Going, gone, gone
by kris10lea
Summary: Sam wasn't the one who left the family business. No. It was his big brother Dean and he wasn't going to be able to tell him he loved him one last time.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It was dark and cold, his mind numbly registered as he walked along the sidewalk. Of course, being the idiot he sometimes (though few would recommend always) was, he forgot his jacket on his February night walk from the bar. Although the night was a little warmer than freezing, it was perfect. The stars in the Minnesota sky were bright and shimmery and clear. The black background of night illuminating more than usual. Dean smiled as memories raced through his head of him and his brother seeing the exact same thing years ago on the hood of Baby. Almost immediately though, Dean frowned sadly and raced to get home from the bar.

It had been years, _years,_ since he allowed himself to think so freely of his little Sam. It wasn't that he didn't regret leaving his screwed up family, he particularly was guilty of leaving Sam behind. Not giving him a goodbye, not even calling him back as the texts and voicemails came piling in. It was only a year later that a, then, 15 year old Sam left him a single text that finalized that he wouldn't be trying to contact him anymore. That text destroyed Dean and he found himself conflicted about trying to contact his family, even six years later.

Dean suddenly found himself in front of his door to his quaint apartment and rushed in, breathing in the warmth and security of the place. He may have left for a more normal and less angry life, but his place was swarmed in protective symbols, sigils, and objects. He didn't have many friends and those that came over found themselves quite curious, but Dean never shared why he had these strange artifacts and "paintings". After locking his door, he raced to the shower and warmed up, shaking the guilty and longing feeling off of him as he crawled into his bed. Sighing, content with the memory foam and the security of his knife under his pillow, Dean fell into a slumber so deep, he didn't hear his kitchen window click as a shadow crept through hours later.

The man who slipped into the apartment silently made his way through the unfamiliar territory. He had to give it to the owner that it was difficult to enter unperturbed, but this intruder was more skilled than the usual thief. He was raised to be undetectable, silent, and more than deadly. His hazel eyes scanned the dark counters and the open door that lead to a warm bed and body. His feet immediately dragged him to the room and filled his eyes with the sight of the one person he hadn't seen in six years; his brother.

It took Sam a god damn long time to find him, edging on a year. His brother was well hidden, but not well enough for his younger brother to not find him eventually. Sam couldn't help the swell of happiness in his chest as he gazed upon Dean, but immediately squashed it with anger and bitterness. Dean was the one who _left_ him. He left him with Dad and didn't say a word of goodbye. Sam wasn't quite sure why Dean left, but he had a good idea the reason laid with him in the equation.

It was then that Sam shook himself and was determined to do what he needed to do. Dad was missing and it had been longer than he liked it to be. He didn't like the man nor did he feel obligated to him, but he was still his father and somewhat hunting partner. Mostly, he felt he owed it to Dean to find him. Dean loved his father, no matter how awfully John treated Sam. With a deliberate loudness, Sam made his way back to the fridge and clinked together beer bottles, expecting Dean's training to kick in. Dean's ears picked up the noise that was being made in the kitchen, alerting him that there must be an intruder. He sighed, not particularly wanting to kick someone's ass, but made his way up with his knife still under the pillow. He didn't want to kill the bastard, just wanted him to regret choosing this particular apartment. With a somewhat quiet approach and deliberate quickness, Dean took in the massive figure before him and swung. He didn't expect, though, the man having unreal hearing and timing.

Sam managed to spin and grab Dean's fist within his own, shoving the man back quickly and pinned him against the wall. He wasn't done though and let go of Dean's shoulders preparing for the inevitable swings of his older brothers fists. He dodged and spun and threw a couple of his own for a few minutes, wearing his brother out, before he really pinned Dean to the floor. Dean cried out in frustration and tried every release move he knew, before the moon light hit Sam's face. He immediately stilled, recognizing the hazel eyes, although not the emotions behind them.

"Sam?"

"In the flesh," Sam smirked and got off of his brother, eyes hard and calculating.

"H-how…" Dean trailed, expecting Sam to give him a hand up before catching the look in his younger brother eyes. He stood by himself and flipped the kitchen lights on, taking in his massive form. Sam was huge, defined by nothing but olive, tan muscle. His black shirt was loose, but still tight enough to show strict muscle over his chest and abdominal area. He had a dark grey jacket on and loose jeans, along with dark brown hunting boots. Not only this, but Sam was a giant, towering over him in every sense of the word. His brother shrugged his answer, not wanting to go into detail how he found Dean. Dean did a fantastic job going deep, but there was nothing that could stand in Sam's way.

"Why," Dean questioned, eyes narrowing at his younger brother's noncommittal answer. His heart was dancing with happiness though and he soon found himself just plain content that his brother was standing in front of him, even if he didn't recognize this particular cold and harsh Sam.

"I came for the beer," Sam rolled his eyes, grabbing both beers that he had laid out on the counter before catching Dean's flying fist. Dean rolled his eyes in sync with his younger brother, taking the beer that Sam offered him even if it was already 2 in the morning and Dean had work at 8. Sam was _here._ In front of him. And it must've been for a damn good reason. So, Dean arched an eyebrow and watched as Sam's eyes filled with an even colder degree. "J-Dad's been missing a few days."

"So? He's gone for weeks at a time and you're concerned over a few days?"

Sam took a swig of his beer before regarding his brother. Was he right to come here? Was he right to do this? Then, he thought over the past years he had suffered with John and without Dean and shook himself mentally. No longer concerned, he continued. "Dad's been missing a few days while he was hunting, Dean."

Dean's body turned to stone. His Dad had been missing from a hunting trip? The man was practically indestructible, not allowing anything to get in his way, so how could he have gone missing? _He is human,_ Dean chided himself "Missing?"

"Ya," Sam nodded, watching the emotions pass on Dean's face. Concern. Love. Regret. Guilt. He scoffed at all of them. Dean left them, left _him._ Why would he possibly feel any of those things? "He was out hunting a rugaroo," Dean paled, "and I haven't heard from him since. Other hunters say the jobs done, and it is, but I can't find him anywhere."

"So, you don't think he's… dead?"

Once again, Sam shrugged his massive shoulders and finished off the beer, way ahead of Dean. "I don't know what to think. Dad's missing. I need help."

"And you came to _me,_ " Dean about shrieked and Sam rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. He was content letting his bastard of a father continue to be missing, but he knew Dean wouldn't want it. He did everything for Dean, now-a-days. Killing evil entities around him and keeping him hidden when other hunters got close. Dean got out, even if it cost him his family, but he was going to stay out. Now, Sam was dragging him back in and he hated it with every single bone in his body.

"Yes, I came to you," he stated. " Because you know Dad, too. I've tried it my way, but I need your help."

"I can't," Dean immediately responded and watched as Sam didn't even react to the negation. "I have work, I have a life here. I can't give that all up."

 _I can't give up my life for you_ , Sam heard behind his brothers words. The rejection stung, but Sam got over it years ago. At least, he thought he had. "All I'm asking for is a few days. You and Dad got along better than he and I ever did," fists and broken bones and blood shrouded Sam's mind before he continued. "You might know of a few places I don't."

"I don't know about that," Dean responded, his blood cold and hot. His dad was missing and Sammy was here. He didn't know how to handle any of this information and it was making his body buzz. "You were with him for six years without me. You know him a lot better than I do, probably."

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. Ya, he knew his fathers fists and knuckles and shoes and words better than Dean ever would. But he didn't really know his father. He knew of anger, and of liquor, and of hatred. "Trust me, I don't. Are you going to help me or not? I've got a lead, though a small one, and its close by here."

Dean was a little shocked from hearing Sam's cold indifference to him. Sam was all warmth and the goodness and soul of the family when Dean was with them; now he was just stone and cold. He knew that Sam would inevitably be different being raised the hunters way, but not this different. Dean's soul cried with guilt as he looked at his younger brother and took everything in. He could spare a few days.

"Only a few days, man. I've got to be back by Friday," he complied and watched as his brother stiffly nodded at him.

"Fine. Friday. Pack up," Sam demanded and walked towards the open window, half way through it before looking back at Dean. "We're taking my car."


	2. Chapter 2

So, I totally forgot to do this in the first chapter. This goes for all the rest of the story. I own, unfortunately, nothing of Dean and Sam or any other characters mentioned in this story.

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Chapter 2

Dean, although not in the lifestyle anymore, still was prepared as a hunter should be. He already had a army duffle filled with old, worn clothes and a few weapons he picked up along the way ready to go. While it was small, it was enough for at least a week's trip and this should only be a few days. With one last glance thrown over his should at his apartment, he closed and locked up his home. Seconds later he was outside of the complex and staring at a ruby red 1965 Mustang Racerback and whistled low. The surface seemed to bleed onto the obsidian asphalt and he could make out his gigantic Sam coming out of the car. Sam smirked, opening the trunk for Dean.

"Damn nice ride, Sammy," Dean used Sam's old nickname and watched as his younger brothers back stiffened measurably. He regretted it the moment it slipped out of his lips. Of course Sam didn't want to hear that from him. Sam didn't say a word though as he continued to unlatch the false bottom, revealing a beautiful collection of deathly weapons. Every knife, gun, book, stake, machete was clean and put in its own personally designed place. Dean swore at the collection, eyeing the rare guns and weapons he only dreamed of handling. "Shit, man," he slid his own sad, dull green duffle into the collection, watching as Sam arranged it neatly, and made his way to the passenger side.

The interior of the car was just as beautiful as the outside. The front bench was a deep black, matte leather and was surrounded by gun-metal gray. It was sleek and beautiful and Dean couldn't help but be a little jealous. Baby, although home, was definitely not up to speed with this beauty and Dean felt guilty for not giving her better attention lately. Sam slid in shortly and started the car, the engine roaring loudly and settling into a strong purr as the red horse galloped out of the parking lot.

"Where are we headed," Dean inquired a few minutes later. Sam had turned on some low classic rock music and had filled the silence, but it was still stuffy and awkward.

"There's a place called Pelican Rapids up here and that's where a few hunters thought they heard John was passing through," Sam remarked casually. "It's about three hours away. You can go ahead and get some sleep."

Dean watched Sam speak robotically to him. His eyes never left the road and his hands remained loose on the wheel, but he knew that Sam was harboring some deep anger at him. The way he handled Dean was if he was just some somebody, not his brother, was immediately recognized by the eldest Winchester and he couldn't help but feel… well, many things, but guilty and sad was on top of the list. When Dean had allowed himself to imagine what it would be like seeing his brother again, he did not expect this. He expected some anger, some well placed hits, but mainly, the joy and love of reuniting with his family, with his _Sam_.

"I'm good," Dean murmured and Sam clenched his jaw. He didn't want to deal with how awkward this was or with Dean or John in general, but they were family. He had an obligation to them.

"Fine. Then do me a favor and start thinking of places that are near here that Dad might've frequented. Pelican Rapids is a pretty small town and close to other places that I can imagine John getting into. Not too many, though."

Dean, whose brain was still turning on a little bit, did happen to recognize how Sam slipped between using Dad and John. He shrugged it off, not sparing any more thoughts towards the distinction, and a few places popped up in his mind that he could see his father using. "There's a small cabin that used to belong to a hunter named Ron. He let Dad use it on his longer, colder hunts around the area. It's right outside of Pelican Rapids, maybe a few miles into the woods there. Designed to be a hide out really, so hopefully no one has stumbled over it, though I'm sure some teens think its haunted with how out of the way and creepy it is," Dean tried to joke, his smirk styling his lips like it was a special craft. Sam only nodded and continued to stare straight out the windshield, not once relaxing in Dean's presence. After an hour of a strange and heavy ambiance, Dean finally plucked up the courage to begin a conversation he never thought he would have. After a big breathe, he began. "Sam, look, I," he stumbled over his words. "About me leaving, I-."

"Save it, Dean," the young Winchester interrupted. Sam really, _really,_ didn't want to hear any of Dean's excuses. Not after all these years. Not after he tried to reach out in the beginning and was forced to accept his miserable fate as a lonely hunter. Not after years of his own blood beating him and blaming him for Dean leaving. He didn't need it now or ever. Back then, before that year had passed, he would've jumped at the opportunity. Now though?

"Sam, come on. You deserve an explanation," Dean started and watched the steady growing of anger in Sam. The knuckles stretched on the wheel became whiter and he could imagine the bulging of muscles pumping with blood underneath the jacket. The tightness of Sam's jaw was another thing that let Dean know just how much Sam really didn't want to talk about this. He didn't say anything more and neither did Sam for awhile. Dean waited for Sam to calm down before he reinserted his foot in his mouth.

Sam didn't glance at his older brother as he kept driving. He knew Dean was waiting for him to calm down to restart his story, so he decided that a few well placed words would have to do. "I don't need an explanation. You leaving was enough explanation for me. I only came to get you because I need to find John. That's all. If you think I came to find you for me, think again Dean."

 _If you think I came to find you for me, think again Dean._ Dean wasn't stupid, but he was sort of desperate when it came to his younger brother. His Sammy. He practically raised the kid and taught him everything he knew before he left. Sam was his and his alone. To protect, to respect, to hold and to love. And he knew he was throwing that away when he walked out that warm night in July. He knew he was giving up Sam, his Dad, his hunting lifestyle and at the time, that is what he wanted. He wanted out. The yelling and fighting between Sam and his father had escalated to too much and he was sick of holding guns and stitching wounds together and being on the brink of dying too many times. So, yes, Dean knew he gave Sam up. And he couldn't feel more guilty, but he hoped that maybe Sam would find him like he just now did. He hoped that Sam could understand why he did it, that he was young and hopeful, but now, he knew. It destroyed his younger sibling.

So, Dean just nodded and kept all of his explanations inside his mouth, begging to be heard. He watched Sam relax slightly, but he never lost that dark look in his eyes nor the way his mouth set in a cold line. Only until they arrived to a motel did Dean hear Sam speak again, telling him he was going to get a room for them. Dean stupidly, and regrettably, offered to pay for a few nights at a hotel, where there were nicer beds and facilities than that of a Super 8. The look he received chilled him to the bone, but Sam just nodded sharply and drove them to a Quality Inn, the nicest place in town.

"This to your standards," Sam asked chillingly and Dean just stupidly nodded and rushed inside to pay for a room with two queens, the man looking at him oddly for paying for a room at 5 in the morning. After paying, he met Sam back at the car and told him he got the end room on the first floor, room 139. Sam followed his brother inside, placed his stuff on the bed closest to the door, and left. Dean heard the roar of the mustang exit the lot and he collapsed onto the bed by the window.

 _God, Dean. How stupid are you,_ he chided. He kept screwing up when it came to Sam and it only served as a reminder to how out of the lifestyle he was, how far he truly was from his own brother. Tears threatened to take over as he laid back, but soon enough he passed out on the comfortable, white bed.

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Hope you guys enjoy! I have a lot of the story written up already (not all of it thought and there's still a lot of room to go through it), so chapters should be up fairly quickly. I'm just doing last minute edits, but forgive me if I miss anything. If you have any requests or questions, go ahead and review or send me a message and I'll answer and try to fit some requests through the story if they work. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Dean awoke, it was to the hotel's door slamming against its own white trim frame and the sun was just peeking through thin, cream curtains. Sam was seriously angry and bruises were coloring his face and hands, darkening as the blue/purple blood surfaced and pooled underneath the taunt skin. A questionable amount of oxidized blood was also staining him and his jacket, fresh and red and stark against his now slightly paler exterior.

"What the hell," Dean sat up immediately, all signs of exhaustion gone from his body and mind as his brain registered his injured brother. Sam had literally just left two hours or so ago and he had already coming back messed up.

Sam sent a glare over at Dean, only to reign his anger in. It wasn't Dean's fault that some stupid men decided to try and mug the 21 year old giant. After all, it was just Sam's luck. And it definitely wasn't his fault that Sam had been a little on the side of drunk (yes, he knew it was only seven in the morning, but the beers and some shots of his cheap whiskey in the alleyway did him good) while it happened. The three men tossed him around fairly well, he'd give them that, but he took a sour pleasure in knowing that the tables had turned against them and they found their pockets a little lighter, faces a little more grotesque than before. "Sorry. I'll get cleaned up," he murmured, going to remove his sticky shirt off of his vivid red painted skin.

"What the fuck happened," Dean threw the tangled white sheets off the bed, panic enveloping his limbs as he raced and stumbled to his brothers side. He couldn't believe he had already let Sam get hurt.

"W-what," Sam stuttered as hands enveloped his arms. His wrist was most definitely sprained and he had a few long, jagged cuts from an unexpected knife coming into play that had cut into him a little deeper than some would consider comfortable. And while there was something stuck in his stomach, a glass shard Sam considered from the trash in the alleyway, he could fix it up himself. Stitches didn't really bother him anymore, blood was all too familiar, and pain was almost welcomed.

"What happened to you," Dean asked, anxiety pulling him forwards and he felt something stirring in his stomach as he stared at all the blood that was staining his Sammy. "Damn it, Sam. Sit down, I'll get you patched up," he shakily pushed his brother towards his untouched bed, but Sam refused.

"Dean, let go of me," Sam replied, brushing his brother's hands off of him briskly. "I don't need this right now."

"Just let me help. Oh god…"

Sam looked at his brother and saw the shaky hands, the nervousness, the translucent hue of paling skin. Dean was breaking down and quickly at that. "Dean, sit down. Take a breathe, I'm alright," he very gently turned and sat the eldest down on his own bed and stared into his eyes, waiting for him to calm down. "Deep breathes in and out, man."

Dean followed his baby brothers instructions to the _t_ , slowly calming down with his help. A few minutes later, a barely there blush was covering his cheeks and he looked away in embarrassment. He couldn't believe he just had a panic attack over something that used to be daily for him. Sure, it had been six years, but it was practically trained in him to not overreact to wounds that need stitches and pooling blood.

"I'm going to clean up," Sam patted his shoulder awkwardly, recognizing that this was the most contact that the two had shared outside of the incident in the apartment. "Rest." Sam left his brother sitting on the bed as he walked into the pristine bathroom. The white towels were neatly stacked near the sink and he grabbed them, soaking them in hot water and pressing them to his injuries. With the cleaning came the cooly considered calculations of what needed stitches and what didn't. Sure, there was a lot of blood initially and a few were still dripping obscenely, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. He was in the middle of his third injury, stitching his lower left abdominal area after pulling the glass shard out, when Dean walked through the bathroom door. The eldest brother's color had returned, but he was still a little shaky as he took in his brothers appearance.

"Are you ok?" Sam gauged his brother while Dean questioned him. The green eyes tracked down the rows of old and new scars and stitches. "Are you stitching yourself?" Rhetorical. Sam rolled his eyes at it and then noticed that he was very much tired of rolling his eyes because of his brother.

"Yeah," Sam replied with a huff, continuing his ministrations. The mundane in and out and loop and knot of the needle and thread tugging his skin in sync. "Have been for awhile."

"What about Dad? Didn't he-," he started in argument, but Sam quickly cut him off.

"Nope."

Dean watched as his younger brother finished off the black thread and, holy shit, the neatest row of stitches he had ever seen and wiped the remaining blood from his skin. "Are you going to just stand there all day," Sam arched an eyebrow and watched as Dean, yet again, blushed. He tilted his head slightly, but smirked when his brother quickly made his way back into the room and ignored his question.

"Do you need, uh, advil or anything?"

Sam really didn't need them. He was too used to being in pain than being without it. It was something he familiarized with and something he almost found to be the most constant thing in his fucked up life. The edge supplying him with the harsh reality of his life. No, he didn't need the painkillers."Nah," he shrugged, dropping three wallets onto the nightstand and stretched gingerly out onto his comfy bed. "I'm ok. Some fuckers got me, but they're taken care of."

Dean nodded, questions on the tip of his tongue, but decided to go with the easiest one. "Are those their wallets?"

With a cold laugh, Sam drifted his fingers over the stitched, puckered skin and nodded. "Yup."

After a few moments of actual relaxed silence, Sam began again. "So, other than those guys trying to rob me, I managed to find a few details about this place. Pelican Rapids has some killer problems," Sam waggled his eyebrows in a very _Sam_ sort of way. Dean, not expecting the sudden subject change, looked at Sam questioningly. Killer? "Ya," he laughed, thinking Dean got it and was just confused of all places _here?,_ and continued on. "Apparently, over the past few years some unfortunate fellas are chomped on. But, these aren't like tiny bite marks like wolves or some shit. It's always just one, giant chomp that kills 'em. Doesn't tear them apart, doesn't try to rip em, just a simple sinking of teeth into their body."

Dean tried imagining what that could look like, but his imagination was lacking of late. Sam had messed up his functioning and he needed to get back on track. But as far as it sounded, it was pretty clean as far as supernatural death's go and he had no clue what would be large enough to kill in one bite like that. "One bite? Shit. That's gotta be a new one."

"Eh. You'd be surprised what you've missed. But ya. Clean through 'em, man. Sounds like our type of thing."

The eldest Winchester thought long and hard, giving a few seconds to think. How much could he have really missed monster wise? And how could they have stumbled upon a hunt while they were searching for their father? Maybe Sam knew what they were walking into when they got into Pelican Rapids. After a few quick seconds of though, he decided he needed this, the hunt. It had been years that he had even considered picking up his favorite .45, but now he was basically chomping at the bit. Plus, he had his brother beside him. "Ya," Dean conceded, sounding almost excited. "Could be. What's big enough to do that though?"

Sam shrugged, pulling at his long hair and slid all the way down into his bed, almost snuggling into the pillows (except Winchesters don't snuggle anything, so hush). "I don't know, dude. Give me an hour and I'll be ready to head out. I'm guessing you didn't bring a suit?"

Dean snorted and laughed at the same time. Sam had no idea how he managed to pull it, but he did just that. "Course not."

The younger man sighed, his head lolling sideways on his pillow, eyes closed and wrapped himself up in blankets. "Fine. No faking feds then. We'll figure it out."

"Dude, I have to be back by Friday. And we still have to get to that cabin," Dean quickly deflated the mood, but Sam showed no physical change to the alteration of the atmosphere.

"Ya, I understand that," he spoke with the same toneless voice as before. "We should be finished by then. I mean, it's only Monday. If not, I'll just drop ya off."

Dean felt… stung by Sam's nonchalance about him leaving. Sam didn't want or need him anymore and he made it very clear as he spoke. It wasn't that Dean didn't deserve it, he just wished he could fix him and his brother and go back to the way it was supposed to be with them. Being brothers and best friends. "That's it? No arguing about me leaving in the middle of a hunt?"

Sam wanted to argue. Oh lord, he did. He wanted his brother by his side for the rest of his, what was most likely going to be, short life. He craved his presence and his simple touches and stupid cocky phrases, but he knew it would never happen. "As far as I'm concerned, it's not the middle of a hunt yet. I'm sure we can knock this out fairly quickly though," Dean continued to watch as Sam remained with his eyes closed and relaxing in bed. "Just… just give me an hour to rest, ya?"

"Of course," he replied, swallowing and holding back on not only apologizing to Sam about how fucked up everything was now, but also expressing how Sam could just give up the hunting life, stay with him, and live to be 100 years old. Yet, despite them threatening to spill from his lips, Dean just nodded and let his brother doze peacefully in bed.

An hour passed quickly, Dean realized, when your eyes closed against their will. It was with a small effort he peeled his lids back and saw Sam still snoring away, two hours past the hour he requested. A smile came easily to Dean as he watched his young brother. The hard lines and coldness had faded away as Sam dreamed and Dean knew that this was what his brother would look like if he didn't leave. With a popping of bones and joints, he snuck out of bed and took into account it was only 11 in the morning. It seemed as if an entire weekend had passed between the two Winchesters, but the eldest was thankful that time seemed to come slowly.

As bones creaked into well tuned ears, Sam mentally shook himself awake and was reintroduced to reality. He had no idea he had been so fatigued as he looked at the clock, but he mentally shrugged. He had glimpsed his brother heading towards the bathroom and stretched out fully, hissing as his stitches pulled his taunt skin, but sat up and became fully aware.

"Dean," he called out, not expecting a reply. "Once you're ready, lets head out and talk to the morgue. I want to see a body," and Dean couldn't help the shudder that went down his spine at his brothers words. He was actually excited about seeing a dead body.

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So, I'm not too sure what I did with this chapter. Kind of goes a step further in showing how far the brothers are from another and just how afraid of each other they are. I actually have written the fourth chapter and I'm really excited about it because... well, I guess you'll see. I desperately wanted to post it as soon as I posted this, but I'm going to hold off for another day or two (maybe I can be convinced to post it earlier, I don't know). You guys are all fantastic and thank you for the reviews! It makes me so happy that people are enjoying this story. xoxo K


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean was impressed. To his former knowledge, his little brother had always been one of the worst liars on the planet. It was always his tiny lips giving him away, the quivers of the corners ruining his facade as he whispered _I didn't eat the cookies, I swear Dean._ But as he watched Sam weave a tale of how his brother and him were really the newest victim's (Johnny Swanson) cousins and they wanted to pay their respects being unable to stay in town for the funeral, he felt even himself half falling for it. Sam may be colder now towards Dean, but the moment another human being was around, the puppy dog eyes were on full blast. The watery depths would draw even the devil into their woe and would make anyone beg to make things right, no matter the price. The poor mortician had no shot in denying the giant his wishes to "pay his respects" towards his deceased cousin the moment Sam started talking.

"Are you sure you can see him, though? His body…," the mortician Marty, of all names, was worried that the young men might be scarred from seeing a mutilated body of a family member. Dean went to reassure the man, but Sam beat him to it with a wobbly, emotional voice.

"My brother and I," he feebly waved a hand between the two of them, "have seen plenty of bodies in the line of war, sir. We'll be alright. We just want to see our cousin one last time and say goodbye."

Dean could practically feel the old man's heart shatter into tiny, cracked pieces. Soldiers and their cousin died days before they were being shipped out again? How could he refuse such a sad and unfortunate case? Marty nodded, gently grasping Sam's shoulder and saying his thanks for protecting the country and saving lives at the cost of so much. And Sam, the fucker, just nodded right along with the man, his teary eyes only furthering the tale of sorrow and sacrifice. Soon enough though, the mortician led the men to Johnny and bowed out, giving the two complete and secured privacy.

"Take your time, gentlemen," Marty closed the door, leaving the brothers alone in the room. The body had been set out, a clothe draped over respectfully and had been wheeled to the middle of the room where the most light hit.

Dean paid no attention to the body though. Instead he gawked at his gigantic brother, who was clearly ignoring him and inspecting the pale figure before him, all traces of teary eyes gone. The sharpness had returned and the cold had resettled into the hazel depths. "Dude."

Sam shot Dean a quizzical look, but continued his research of the man. Johnny was age 24, 6 foot tall and built like a bean pole, brunette with dulling blue eyes, resident of Pelican Rapids for a short year and quite the dark loner according to what Marty had said. "What?"

"That was amazing."

Sam shrugged, but felt the warmth of Dean's approval slip through his veins. It somewhat disgusted him that he needed his big brothers approval still, but it made his heart race in ways he had forgotten about and pride swelled in his chest. "Thanks," he answered quietly, clearing his throat awkwardly and poked around the corpse some more. "Alright, well looks exactly what I figured it would be."

Dean witnessed the emotional scene with happiness, glad he took a step in the right direction, before directing himself back to the case. "And how did you figured it would look like," sarcasm colored his words and Sam smirked. Dean had no knowledge of what this case entailed and was running blind, obviously leaning on Sam for information and background history.

"All the other vic's looked like this when they were found. They all had a 'U' shape bite through the chest and lower cavities. Teeth went clean through bones like butter, man. This is a strong son of a bitch," Sam muttered, exploring the holes with a small LED light he found on the table. "Two sided entries, one on the front of the body, the other on the back. Both at the same time, seeing as some are aligned to make straight through the body and some aren't. Has to be a bite."

Dean nodded along with his words, taking the gloves that Sam found and poked at the body, too. He couldn't deny that he was thrilled to be working with his younger brother again. Sam took out his EMF and turned the monitor on. Right away, the thing went off. It wasn't the strongest reading, but there were definite residuals of ghostly involvement. "Looks like a ghost then."

"What ghost could do this," Dean asked with wide eyes, taking in the poor guy and throwing his gloves away alongside Sam's. The youngest of the two smirked, glad that he had researched far enough into the town's history to suspect what it could exactly be.

It was only an hour later that Dean found himself standing near a giant statue of, you guessed it, a pelican. "You're joking," he muttered as Sam ran the EMF scanner around it precariously. It didn't help that the damn thing was situated near water and that the EMF was taped to a found and borrowed, most likely to be returned to some other random location, fishing rod. Sam laughed at Dean's almost disgusted tone, more carefree than he could admit. Sure, he didn't really like the fact that a giant pelican statue was killing people, but _come on._ It was a pelican and it couldn't get weirder or more funny in the hunting world than this. The scanner did scream at them as he circled the stupid thing and he drew the thing back to them, enjoying the look on Dean's face.

"Come on, at least we know what it is."

Dean's eyebrows screwed up in the way Dean only could and whined pathetically, "But a fucking pelican?"

Sam laughed, only slightly, again and the eldest narrowed his eyes at how much his younger sibling was enjoying this. Eventually, as they made way back to the almost-better-than-Baby car, he shrugged and started to enjoy the fact that they were hunting a pelican ghost of all things.

Time did its thing, flying past the boys as they researched in the local library. All the victims were male, described as loners, but there was always some shady activity happening around them. Whether it was drugs, alcohol addiction, or the simple depression, something fishy always followed them around. For the first hour after discovering the similarities between the vic's, Dean mentally laughed at his corny joke. He dared not tell Sam, afraid not only of the cold glare he would probably receive, but also of embarrassment. But as the clock kept ticking, Dean couldn't get the damn phrase out of his head. Fishy. Pelican's liked fish, right? Fish… Oh.

"Hey, uh, Sam," Dean began carefully and lowly. The librarian had already hushed him twice and Sam wasn't going to be forgiving if they got thrown out. Plus, he knew Sam was in the zone, research piled high and that was the only thing that was going to gain his attention.

"Ya," Sam answered off handedly, head buried in an article about the case of Adrian Summers in 1989.

"Uhm, I think," he coughed, unlike himself. "I think I found out why this pelican is out for people."

"Ok…" Sam trailed off, still not really paying attention to his brother.

"Well, it's a pelican. Pelican like fish, right? The statue is literally situated in front of a waterfall that _feeds_ it the freaking fish basically. And pelicans are like, the MOTHER of fish killing bastards. All of our vic's here had shady activity happening around them. Some may say, something was fishy about them," halfway through Dean's speech, Sam had begun to really listen and against his will, his mouth fell open in shock. Was Dean actually on to something? When Dean finished, his usual smirk on his lips, Sam was stunned into silence. Dean was right. It was targeting the fishy people of the town, killing them because of that shady activity. He nodded slowly, brain searching for an answer as he kept opening and closing his mouth. "Dude, stop. You look like fish gasping for air," Dean rattled off at him and Sam finally shut his mouth, playfully glaring at his older brother.

The atmosphere was light and airy between the brothers as they left the library, by far the lightest it had been. Sam found himself actually finally relaxing, almost letting go of his bitterness and coldness to his brother before Dean shoved his foot in his mouth. They were in Sam's car and Dean off handedly threw a comment about how Baby could take the mustang any day. That was when Sam shut down.

When Dean had left his family, he didn't just take himself out of Sam's life. He took Baby, the only true home that Sam ever had, too. Dean had ripped her away and Sam had to adjust, making Lexie the 'stang his new home, a lonely one at that. Lexie took care of him though, got him to the places he needed to be, provided shelter on cold and moneyless nights, and kept him sane as he cranked on her old parts. Over the years together on open roads, Lexie had replaced Baby. Baby wasn't Sam's home anymore and Lexie deserved better than that association. "You don't ever," Sam said through clenched teeth and set an icy glare onto his brother, hoping to make his point and chill his brothers bones, "associate Lexie and Baby again. Ever."

Dean, realizing his mistake as soon as the words spilled out, nodded quickly and remained silent the remainder of the trip to the hotel. Sam's killer glare chilled him slightly and he watched as Sam grunted, sharply nodding back and continued driving. The car was filled with stuffy silence, only penetrated by Sam's harsh breathing and Dean's occasional opening of his mouth. No words though could fix the atmosphere, so no one dared speak, not even about the case. Well, at least until Sam pulled into the hotel drive and dropped Dean off. "I'm grabbing dinner," he said gruffly and drove away, leaving Dean standing in front of Comfort Inn.

Sam shortly returned back to the hotel with a double cheeseburger with extra onions for Dean and a 12 pack of Bud Lights, a fifth of whiskey, and a small tub that contained an iffy looking chicken salad sandwich. Without hesitation, Dean took the food offering and chowed down, occasionally breathing and taking a sip of his beer. Sam watched in delicately disguised disgust as his brother chowed, but quickly got over it and ate the rest of his bland meal. After the food was finished and the beer bottle was polished off, he grabbed his whiskey and situated himself on the bed, taking small sips like it was wine. The burn felt good down his throat and he wanted to savor it in silence.

"You shouldn't drink on jobs," Dean whispered quietly, somewhat concerned over Sam's behavior. No words had been exchanged between the brothers since mentioning the two cars and dinner and he desperately needed to know that Sam was alright for the moment.

"Don't ever really feel it," he shrugged, a sad and sour air to his words. "Anyways, we aren't MO's for the damn thing and it only kills every few weeks. Last vic was a few days ago, plus we haven't really poked at it. Not my first time dealing with this stuff, Dean."

Dean remained silent the rest of the night, polishing the other few beers off and passed out, unaware as Sam kept a steady vigil over them. It wasn't until the next morning that Dean realized how sad it was that his younger brother had turned to drinking and knew that even with alcohol flowing freely in his blood, Sam wasn't ever really not prepared to fight a fugly.

* * *

So, I was actually smiling writing this chapter. It made me happy to see the brother's working together and enjoying each other. It's hard to write Sam's difficult and unforgiving nature and Dean's awkwardness, but this was a nice break (at least, for a little bit). I hope you enjoyed the almost silly nature of it in the beginning!

 **double-0-nothing** : Yay! SO happy that the button started working for you. I've noticed FanFic being a little buggy with me, too! A little rough when you want to keep reading a story haha. Thank you for the reviews, favorite, and follow. You rock.

 **savily:** Thanks for the review! I enjoy writing about the role reversal immensely and it's been fun trying to discover where each character is going to be coming from. Hope I got this chapter up fast enough for ya (;

 **Kas3y** : I like stories like that, too. Unfortunately, I didn't think of it quick enough. I am working on the next chapter and you might see a little something going on with Sam's past and his scars. The scar idea actually sort of fits in with the plot, as you'll see in the next coming chapters. Thanks for reviewing and adding!

 **shadowdancer33996:** So happy you are enjoying the story! :) As for a tragic ending, well. William Goldman quoted his novel, _The Princess Bride,_ perfectly. "Look. (Grown-ups skip this paragraph) I'm not about to tell you this book has a tragic ending. I already said in the very first line how it was my favorite in all the world. But there's a lot of bad stuff coming." Thanks for the review!

 **OogaBooga1234** : Thank you for the compliments! Angst is a killer, but we all crave it, huh? Thanks for reviewing. :)

You all rock and keep the reviews coming. xoxo K.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The next morning, the two went out for a quick breakfast at Sal's Diner and decided that salting and burning the statue at night would take care of the problem in Pelican Rapids. Sam mentioned it was possibly the easiest case he had taken care of in a while; Dean just shrank back and withered underneath his brothers piercing gaze. Yesterday was not forgiven nor forgotten and would not be for awhile and Dean acknowledged that while eating his blueberry pancakes covered in sugary syrup. Sam, seemingly innocent, munched on cinnamon apple oatmeal and a plate of eggs before he changed the topic.

"We got the day off. Lets go look for that cabin," and abruptly stood, paid for their meal, and left with Dean struggling to keep up. It was too sudden of a change for the eldest Winchester's brain to catch up with until they were in front of the cold and dark forest. It may have been 10 in the morning, but the sun hid away in dark snow clouds and barely lit up the bleak area. Wordlessly, Sam handed Dean an impressively light, but hefty saw off shot gun and passed him an iron knife. "Salt rounds," he informed him. Sam tucked his .45 in the back of jeans, also equipping himself with a silver knife and carried a small backpack that no doubt held holy water and more salt rounds for both weapons.

"You said it was somewhere on the edge of Rapids, ya?"

Dean nodded, swallowing. His mouth was dry for no reason as he played with the knife in his hands. "Ya, Dad told me once it was about 5 miles North. There's a path on the west side of the house, but only experienced hunters can really see it."

"Should have no problem then," Sam muttered, hefting the bag onto his shoulders and began the trek into the woods.

It took a few blisteringly cold hours to get to the cabin, but the Winchesters found it settled in between two impressive, old oaks. They scurried inside (well, they are human) and basked in the slightly warmer atmosphere. Sam quickly checked the place for any supernatural entities before stumbling over John's journal. In the back room, on top of the desk and clear as day did Sam find coordinates with his name circled. Anger blistered through Sam's once cold veins and he punched the wall above the desk, leaving an impressive mold in the weak wood. "Fucking John," he muttered, throwing a few more fists at the wood and picking the journal up. The cabin was small and he knew his brother had most likely heard him throw his small fit of anger, but he couldn't help it. After weeks of actually being slightly concerned for his bastard of a dad and all he gets is coordinates and his name? The storm was brewing inside him and he absentmindedly scratched the last thing John had given him, a nasty scar on his right shoulder. He was thankful that Dean had yet to see it, the 'J' being too perfectly shaped to be explained as a hunting accident. With his thoughts on John, Sam stopped the awkward tracing of the scar and breathed out flames. His anger was fuming and he growled low, throwing the damn journal on the floor. Fuck John and fuck his life.

"Sam," Dean asked gingerly, witnessing the odd display. He heard the anger, basically felt the heat of it brush through the cabin and he was concerned. "Everything alright?"

"Ya," Sam growled, eyes harsh as he scoffed at the journal on the floor. The pages were open and scattered now, yet he made no move to pick it up. "I found Dad's journal."

"But he never leaves-."

"I KNOW," Sam yelled, then pinched his nose as he tried to calm down. It wasn't Dean's fault. It wasn't. "I know," he began much calmer. The anger only simmered now. "He left coordinates for me."

"Coordinates?" Dean was shocked. Why would he leave coordinates for Sam?

"Ya," Sam sat at the creaky table in the kitchen and swore softly again. Today was a shit day and he needed to get drunk. "John and I had a system where he would send me coordinates about a hunt and I would go and take care of the problem."

"You were hunting by yourself?"

"Dude, I'm 21," Sam raised his eyebrows at his eldest brother and scoffed at the surprise on his brother's face. Everything surprised his brother these days and he was bitter about it. If Dean had just stayed with them, he would have his partner, his _brother._ He wouldn't be as messed up physically and mentally and Sam had a feeling he would actually feel protected with his brother having his back.

"Dad never let us hunt alone, you know how stupid it is," Dean growled low. Why was his brother taking hunts alone? Dad had never let _him_ take hunts alone, even after he pleaded. They knew the risks were too great and hunting alone came at a different cost, one that the family did not pay. Hunting alone was too dangerous, almost all single hunters dying sooner or later. They had each other, or well, they did for awhile.

"I get by," Sam shrugged. Life was much better for him hunting alone. He preferred it measurably over hunting with his father. The abuse he lived with for years clouded his head momentarily, the hidden scars burning him as he recalled those times, and he shook himself back to the present. He didn't go to those memories anymore.

"Ya, get by," Dean scoffed. Probably with his life barely intact, Dean was willing to bet. Hunting alone. God. His family was messed up and he couldn't help but feel it was all his fault. If he had just stayed…

Sam remained silent as Dean rambled into silence, too. The brothers were cold, uncomfortable, and now they knew their dad wasn't around and was most likely perfectly ok. The younger Winchester sighed, sick of hearing that sound escape him, before he looked back up at his brother. He could read that Dean was pissed, at both him and his father, but he could also see the 'what if's' playing through the mind of an older brother.

"Don't do that," Sam stood from the withered chair and said softly. Sure, Sam was angry and bitter and borderline murderous about Dean leaving, but he couldn't stand seeing his brother in agony. "Don't let the 'what if's' take over your head. That's all they are going to be and this is ok with me. So let it be? And lets get back to the hotel," he rubbed his hands together almost childishly. "I'm freezing."

Dean just nodded and gathered himself together once more, following Sam back into the warm civilization. The sun was setting (why set when it never really came out, Dean thought bitterly) and the brothers decided that after visiting the hotel to grab their stuff, they would burn the damn bird and get out of town, returning Dean back to his life a few days before his deadline.

For once, the bird went down easy, something that surprised the eldest, but not the youngest and the mustang was soon running down the black asphalt track. Dean couldn't help but pray for time to slow down, just for a few moments or hours. His time with Sam was already up and he couldn't help but feel the hole inside him grow even larger. The amount of regret and guilt ate him up as he rode in the passenger seat, watching the dull, snowy scenery pass by in a whirl of white and black. By the time that he shook himself out of his reverie, they were idly sitting in front of his complex. Sam made no move to get out, leaving the car rumbling beneath him. Dean, too, made no move.

"Sam, I just want to say-," Dean began, once again to apologize to the younger man. He needed to make Sam understand, but he was interrupted swiftly.

"Don't," Sam gritted out through his clenched jaw, almost reading Dean's mind on where this conversation was taking them. "Don't start."

Irritation then pulsed through Dean's veins and before he knew it, words were spilling out of his mouth. "God damn it, Sam. I'm trying to _apologize_ here. I'm trying to make things better. I made a mistake and I know it now. But fuck, Sam. Let me fucking apologize or say something to you." His breathing was harsh and he could feel the heat waves he was throwing off. He was pissed. Sam may think he could control the conversations, but Dean knew he was going to fight for it. Fight to talk and apologize to his younger brother and not stop until he did and fixed things at least to a small degree.

Sam didn't react to Dean's anger. He knew better than to show any emotion to a Winchester whose anger was ringing in his ears and veins. While he knew he could dodge and inflict more damage now, he would regret it and end up leaving even more of a mess behind. He didn't need that. "No," Sam stated calmly. He watched as Dean's eyes grow wide and his hands bunch into fists. "Let me tell you why," he continued, glaring at Dean and throwing him his coldest, deadliest face. It sent shivers down Dean's spine and he fought to control the weak whimper about to come out of his mouth as Sam gazed upon him. All the heat vanished and all that was left was ice. "You left. You stayed gone. You're going to stay gone."

Who knew three simple sentences could break you apart? Dean didn't. He felt the air rush out of his lungs and tears gathered in his eyes. He was fighting for control over his reaction, breathing weakly. He knew that he left and that he stayed that way, that he gave up his _Sam._ But now Sam was here and back and warm and big and Dean _needed_ him.

"It was a mistake," he whispered brokenly. "A big mistake, Sam. I just… I just needed to get out of there. I couldn't keep playing the mediator between you and Dad, and I felt filthy all the god damn time. There was always too much blood and dirt for me. I couldn't breathe, Sammy. I left cause I thought it was the right thing to do."

Sam tightened his hands, leaving moon crescent imprints in his palms. The spark of pain rightened him as the motion tugged on his stitches and his wrist, and he breathed deeply. "Get out of my car."

"No," Dean stubbornly said.

"I said. Get. Out. Of. My. Car."

"And I said no. Sam, just freaking listen to me. Please," Dean begged and Dean never begged. Maybe it was the way he did it or how Sam knew he never begged, but the younger remained silent and waited for his big brother to continue. "I was 19, man. What was I supposed to think? I wanted to get away, but never from you. I thought that maybe if I left you with dad, that you'd be better off, you know? I couldn't afford to give you everything and I was barely getting by until some random guy took me in and helped me out. I knew that I was leaving you, Sam. But I thought it would be better for you. I…," he gulped, but continued to look at his hands. "I missed you every single day. I listened to all those voicemails and read every text. I cried and screamed and dreamt of you, but I never could call you back or answer the damn phone. I couldn't bring myself to talk to you and not come running back."

Sam sat in stunned silence as Dean trailed off. If his brother just answered his damn cell… He still sat in steaming anger and wanted Dean out, but he couldn't deny he missed Dean, then and now. His body breathed for Dean's needs, but he knew he had to stay away. He wasn't Sammy anymore. No, no Sammy had died the twenty fourth time his father had beaten him until he was barely recognizable. It was then and there, a year after Dean left, that that part of Sam was dead and gone. Even then, he attracted all types of evils that Dean didn't need apart of.

"Even if you wanted to stay, you need to be here. You're _life_ is here and not with me anymore. You were the one to abandon me and not contact me. Here are your consequences."

The tears that Dean fought so stubbornly finally spilled onto his sharp cheeks. They were silent, but not invisible and Sam fought to keep control as he saw his brother cry for the first time in his life. He hated this. He hated this situation. It was all kinds of screwed up and difficult and he didn't need this. With a sigh, he placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and gently pulled him out of his door behind him. He gathered his brothers bag from the trunk and swung it on Dean's shoulders, the man automatically grabbing it.

"You're going to be ok," Sam reassured him, a small smile on his face. God, he loved his brother. He loved his brother too much, but he knew Dean would never give up this life for him now. "You've done it before. I'm sorry that I came crashing in and wrecked what you had, but you'll be fine. I'm not much good to be around anymore anyways," he chuckled quietly, swiping Deans tears from his cheeks gently. His calloused hands were rough and used now, but they were still soothing to Dean.

"Stay," Dean whispered brokenly and desperately. He couldn't watch his brother leave him, not like he did. Was this how Sam felt when he woke up that morning? The next six years of mornings?

"I can't and you know that, Dean," he replied evenly, still gentle. This life wasn't for him, would never be for him. He couldn't give Dean a steady home or even nice beds in hotels. He had nothing but himself to offer and he knew he wasn't enough.

Dean nodded, the tears drying up and he laughed softly, swiping them away. "Ya, I know." Sam nodded back at him and stepped away.

"It was good seeing you, Dean." _God, I missed you._

"You too, Sam." _Same here, little bro. Stay here._

Sam made his way to his baby, Lexie, and took in the last sight of his Dean. Red rimmed eyes and a snotty nose wasn't the way he wanted to remember his big brother, but it was all he got. He opened the drivers door and paused, emotion eating at him. This was hard. "You have a good life, man. Keep it that way."

"Stay safe." _I love you._

* * *

So sorry for the delay in updating guys. I really struggled with this chapter, unfortunately. I couldn't decide what I really wanted to do with it and words and sentences just weren't coming out right. It is longer and it might not be the best writing I will ever do, but I was satisfied enough to post it. What were your thoughts reading it?

 **OogaBooga1234** : I did think about Dean having a girlfriend, but only for a little bit. I agree that Dean probably would have one, but the direction of the story limited how much interaction we would have with her and I couldn't give her the right amount of worthy attention. But thank you for the reviews! I really appreciate the great feedback.

 **double-0-nothing** : Thank you! That is a big compliment for me. I wasn't sure how people would react to the Impala/Mustang comparison since Baby is such a huge part of the boys lives. And OH MY GOSH. That is funny! I'm so happy that you consider this story that interesting. I'm sure it must've been a tad irritating, but thank you none the less. You're awesome.

Thanks for the reviews and feedback, y'all. Hope you enjoy this chapter. xoxo K.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The trip had been silent. Sam couldn't bear to listen to music since he and Dean had separated weeks ago as it only reminded him of his older brother. So, as he rolled into a parking lot situated for campers and animal hunters, the engine was the only sound of life echoing in the forest of Cold Springs, Minnesota. It was hard being so close and so far from Dean, but he needed to get this hunt done. Bobby had called him and asked him to clean up and put to rest the now deceased hunters George and Mason Hastings. The two brothers had been new to the hunting lifestyle, thrown into the world of the supernatural without any guidance or friends. They had, unfortunately, stumbled upon the case of two werewolves and had realized their mistakes too late. They didn't have the juice to kill the fuckers, so as George whipped out his phone while running from the beasts and called Bobby, their only line, and told him what was happening. Bobby had heard the wolves descend upon the poor man and swore to put them to a proper rest.

Sam only complied because werewolves were rare, two werewolves even more rare than a blue moon. He had been itching for a down right dirty and dangerous job and this one practically fell into his lap, handed down to him in the perfect way. By no means, though, was Sam suicidal. He just needed something to be a challenge. With his trusty .45 loaded with silver bullets, a few spare cartridges loaded with the same, and a short silver knife that gleamed wickedly in the moonlight, Sam made his way silently through the bleak forest. The moon barely provided just enough light for him to see, but seeing wasn't the problem as he traveled forward.

Most relied on their less than perfect sight when hunting werewolves, but every hunter would say that Sam excelled beyond that of "most hunters" when it came to the art of werewolf hunting. It was one's hearing and smell that needed to be focused and sharp. While werewolves were not particularly quiet creatures, they were quick; wicked quick and almost blurring on the edges of reality and too fast to comprehend. Being able to sense which direction the wolf would attack was the biggest problem to staying alive and there were always tells, always ways to detect where it was coming from. A snap of a branch, the barely there growl ripping through gnarly teeth, the brush of hair against a leafy or sharp bush- it would tell you all you needed to know from one sound traveling to ears. Then, came the smell. If a werewolf was smart and recognized that they were dealing with a professional killing machine like Sam, it would hunker down and practically become invisible and soundless, hiding itself from something stronger than it. The smell of werewolf was unique enough that even trained hunters could detect it; burnt skin, iron, and a strange hint of vanilla and honey would taint the air when you got close enough. Close enough being within twenty feet of it and at that point, you had to be ready for any surprises or it would get you dead.

The practically silent hunter had fortunately been able to pick up foot tracks about four miles into the Spring's woods and he could sense that abominations were close by. One male and one female werewolf, a mating pair, were definitely the most rare it got when it came to lore and Sam could feel his blood buzzing from his excitement and adrenaline. Even with the buzz in his veins, Sam stayed cool and calm and finally caught a blurred sight of the two. They were large, even for non-lunar werewolves, but Sam was prepared for this sight. The prints had been larger than usual and the spacing between then prints were longer.

He silently drew his .45, able to get close enough that he had a decent shot. Not perfect and clean, but definitely good enough to slow down the male were. The female was smaller and he was certain she'd be the easier of the two to take down. With his eye on the males left, back flank he fired and watched the panic envelope the creatures before they recognized where the danger was coming from. He was able to get one more splitting bullet into the male before he was overwhelmed with the female werewolf. She was faster than he had calculated, quickly causing damage to his jacket and shallow wounds to his skin, but Sam was prepared for her swift arrival. He had just enough room to deliver a devastating punch onto her jaw, flipping her soft belly up and he quickly emptied his silver bullets into her chest cavity. The howls that escaped her were short and strangled as she collapsed, but Sam had no time to recover. The male had been able to get over his pain to launch his own attack on the hunter, rage coloring all of its actions and attacks. Sam smirked and faced off with the enraged beast, unable to clip on another cartridge into his .45. The knife slipped into his hands easily enough and the male finally launched. The fight had been messier and taken longer than the female, but as the two rolled on the forest floor, Sam had managed to come on top for less than a second and delivered the final blow. The knife gleamed in the reflection of the moon as it stood in wolf's hairy chest before it began to change back into its human form.

Sam was bloody, was slightly limping, and definitely had a pounding headache, but he was proud and bite free. Two mated werewolves and they were dead, thanks to him. "Suck it, John," he snarled and smiled darkly, pulling the knife out of the body with a slurping sound. He cringed at the noise slightly and straightened himself, assessing the damage on his body further. Moe than a few cuts would require stitches, but that was nothing new and nothing to panic over at the moment. As the youngest Winchester started to clean up, ready to burn the two bodies, a rustling noise alerted him to more danger.

Now, Sam was thorough in research and delved into the lore of werewolves with a barely controlled enthusiasm. While regular wolves tended to have packs and alphas, two was a crowd for the mindless beast controlled by the moon and cycles. So he was justified in not realizing that there was a third and very angry werewolf behind him with the others. The attack was sudden and loud and was long and bloody. The shock of the initial dig of nails in his skin stunned him, but he fought hard as he heard the snapping of jaws and tearing of skin and tendons and bones. The fight had been blurry, too. Nothing but red and dirt and black and jaws flashed in front of Sam's eyes and soon enough, the knife was buried in the third and, hopefully, final werewolf.

His hands shook as he struggled to stand up, rolling the body of the heavy third and unexpected werewolf off of him. There was red everywhere. It was on trees, on the dirt floor, on leaves and sticks, and _oh god,_ it was everywhere on him. He couldn't breathe without smelling it, couldn't swallow without tasting it. Everything was blood and that is all he knew.

 _Fucking dogs,_ he whined inside his fucked up, psychotic head. His body was wrecked with gouges and tears, blood seemingly seeping from everywhere as he shakily made it to his feet, grasping a branch from a close by tree. He burnt the bodies with his lighter, salt and a small capsule of reactant, crawling to each of the bodies steadily and shakily. After swiping his gun up and making sure his evidence was disposed of, he started to make his way to where his car sat. _I-i just need to stitch myself up._ He was shaky, tired, and felt the warmth of life starting to disappear as he made his way through the forest. The moon was just bright enough to light his path and he thanked whatever god there was out there for it. It was a miracle he even made it to his car, Sam knew this, as he fell on top of Lexie's hood with a pained grunt. This. This was it. This was how he bowed out. Thanks to fucking _dogs._ He couldn't even move as he rested on his car, his blood deeper than the cars own bloody red color.

It had been too many weeks since he left Dean in his odd town in Minnesota and every moment away from him was harder than the first, even harder that he was in Minnesota right now. No, Sam didn't call, even when he found Dean's number plugged into his full, yet empty phone. Dean didn't call either. Sam also plugged his number in, just incase of an emergency or something of course. Neither sibling had talked to each other since and Sam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but now he was just too tired to think of it. As blood dribbled down past his eyes, he dug and prayed he still had his cell in his jeans. He found the object and slid downs he rested his head against the upper tire of Lexie. It was fitting, dying near the one home he had now. Without hesitating, Sam scrolled to Deans name and prayed he'd pick up.

The line rang a few times before he made it to Dean's voicemail. His heart dropped and he closed his phone, accepting that even after they met, Dean didn't want to talk to him. He had ended the call too early for it be a natural "I can't get to the phone" type of situation.. He couldn't leave a voicemail because that wasn't right anymore. He never left voicemails anymore now that he knew Dean listened to all of them, listened to his pain and still refused to call back.

He coughed, blackened blood spurting over his lips and he smiled briefly. God, three werewolves. Those were nasty sons of bitches and anyone would be proud to hear someone taken out three and lived to tell the tale. _Well, almost_ Sam mentally laughed as he felt a peace wash over him. He was ok with dying. No really, he was. So, in an empty parking lot, Sam Winchester, a little brother and youngest son of a torn and broken family, closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable to take hold of him and wash him into oblivion, realizing that he was going to die and he couldn't even tell his brother he loved him one last time.

* * *

Sad, sad, sad, and too short? I'm trying to tie everything together here. I don't want this to be a long story as I am making this go along pretty fast, but I know there's at least six or seven chapters left, maybe more, but nothing less. As my old AP Lit teacher would say, we have reached the climax and I can only go up or down from here. I have read all the reviews and I am so pleased that everyone is looking forward to finding out how Dean will react to Sam's abuse. I can tell you right now it is not pretty and it is not what you think it will be. Dean is very different in this story and I'm sure this is how _my_ type of Dean will react, not the real one. Please, please review or just leave comments. The next chapter is pretty big (obviously) and I want to make it perfect for all of you. Thank you. xoxo K.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean Winchester was having the greatest day of his life. It started as the sun rose to shine on his world, birds chirping to say good morning and really, the peeling back of his eyelids was the cherry on the cake. So safe to say, his day started terribly. His alarm clock refused to stay quiet, the birds were obscenely loud, his coffee machine had broken and he spilt the only cup of coffee he could get out of it onto his new, and quite expensive, shirt. Then Baby refused to start, making him ten minutes late to work and his boss chewed him out. The working part was the only nice thing in his day as he got lost within the engines and grease of cars. He enjoyed his job immensely, doing what he actually liked and that was usually enough for him to get over how terrible his day was going. Yet, as he left, he discovered the doors of his Impala were keyed and he stayed later to wax out the issues. Two hours past slowly and he was finally able to go home, ready to sleep away the exhausting and long day.

He was walking up the stairs to his apartment when his phone started buzzing, the swell of Led Zeppelins _Ramble On_ playing. He knew exactly who was calling. With a swelling heart and an erotic heartbeat, Dean whipped the device out and went to press answer. Instead, in his excitement, he tripped over the stairs and incidentally pressed _end call_ instead. Cursing, gravity worked against him as his body fell forwards, sliding down the steps uncomfortably and landing at the end of the stairwell. Dean couldn't believe how shitty his day really was as he inspected himself. He would be bruised, but nothing was seriously injured.

Unaware of the limitation of time, Dean decided to safely make it to his home before returning Sam's call. With his luck, he would once again hang up on his brother and then Sam would refuse to answer his calls. He quickly moved up the hallway, finger hovering over the button, and pressed it only once he was inside and locked up.

\- - - Sam - - -

It was only a few minutes later that Sam felt his phone vibrating in his hands. It didn't register quickly in his sloshy brain that he should answer the call, because it was undeniably Dean calling back, so he let it ring until it stilled in silence. It started up again and the constant vibrations jolted his messed up hand uncomfortably, jolting him to wearily reopen his dulling eyes and read that Dean was calling him back. He questioned himself, wondering if he should answer it, then raised the phone towards his blood and dirt matted hair to bring to his torn ear. _Well not like it will make a difference_ , Sam thought as he did so. _I'll be dead soon enough._

" 'ello," Sam slurred, his tongue feeling heavy with blood, but sounding somewhat like himself.

"Sam! Hey, sorry about that. I went to grab my phone and sort of, uh, well tripped up the stairs, but hey," Dean was beyond excited. His brother had finally reached out to him and it made his shitty day beyond better. He had been waiting and waiting, deciding if he should call his little brother, but he wanted Sam to make the move first. Knowing his luck, he'd call in the middle of a hunt or something and get the youngest Winchester killed.

"Ho-" Sam coughed lightly, incredibly able to feel an even bigger tide of blood color his stained lips. It was getting harder to breathe and dark spots were covering his vision and he couldn't feel his toes, but were the stars closer or was the sky darker? "How're you?"

"I'm ok. Just got done with work. Shitty day," he laughed lightly, then started to be concerned. Sam was breathing pretty hard and he hadn't missed the slurred sounds and coughing he was emitting through the phone. "You ok?"

"I'm… just fine, De," he said happily, breathy and short. If Dean was having a shitty day, he wondered how his would look in comparison. Was it another day at the office? Something that was out for him? "Just fine."

Fuck. Sam was definitely not ok. Dean could still read all the signs. "Sam, tell me whats wrong," Dean ordered as he regathered his keys to get to Baby. And to Sam.

The fact that Dean could still pick up that he was in trouble sent a pleasant pulse through Sam, but it also made him lose more blood as his heartbeat picked up the sensation. _Win-lose situation, Winchester,_ Sam laughed in his head. "-m ok," Sam tried to get out, looking closer at the stars that were out. There were so many in the sky, so many little balls of gas. How had he not noticed that there were billions out there? He then continued, "Looking at stars… like we used to, bro."

"Where are you," Dean asked worriedly, rushing to his car and ready to do whatever it took to make everything better. _Please tell me where you are, Sammy._

"Forest," he replied simply, happy he could still see his surroundings even if they were skewed in black and his mind was trying to keep up with the sights before him. "-rewolves."

"Werewolve _s?_ What the hell Sam," Dean cursed. His idiot, stupid little brother was just begging to be killed at that point. Once he got to Sam and knew he was safe, they were going to have a long talk. "Where?"

"Sota."

Dean cried with relief and desperation. He was close. He must've heard of all the killings up in Cold Springs, which was thankfully only a 30 minute drive from where he was. "You stay with me, Sam, ok? Don't you dare hang up on me."

Sam tried nodding, his head barely bobbing, then laughed bloodily. Dean couldn't see him. "Sure, De."

After quickly alerting 911 that there was a man in trouble by the outskirts of the Cold Spring woods, Dean immediately went back to talking to Sam. First of all, making sure that the werewolves were not around him. "Nah, burned 'em already and miles away," was what he could barely make out and Dean shook with rage. Sam shouldn't have to dispose of evidence before taking care of himself. "Tell me what you're looking at," Dean asked, just to keep his brother talking until he was only a few minutes away. He could hear sirens in front of him and he pushed Baby even faster, her engine rumbling smoothly despite not being pressed as hard as this in years. It was if she sensed that she was needed and couldn't afford to not race to her brother's side.

"Stars," Sam murmured again tiredly, slowly. He was losing energy and he was cold, too cold. Blood soaked into the dirt floor of the forest and even his car looked like a horror show film occurred outside of it. "Like how we used to see them. But they're closer, De."

Dean started to panic. He could barely make out what Sam was saying now, the slurring of his words together was not making sense. But he made out stars and closer and De. Always De. "Keep with me Sam. We're close ok? We're going to make it to you soon."

"S'tired," Sam admitted. It was as close to admitting weakness that Sam would ever get. Tired. "Where."

"I'm close, Sam," he chocked out, surprised that the sirens had not yet made an appearance on Sam's side of the phone. "Just hang in there."

"De," Sam coughed again and sighed. He knew they wouldn't make it. His body was shutting down, he felt the slowness of his pulse drifting in and out of his range. There was just too much blood everywhere and not enough left in his body. With as much energy as he could muster, Sam said his final words with clarity and wished that he could say them to Dean's face, see those jade green eyes just one more time. "I love you."

Dean sobbed as he heard the words, paired with the uncomfortable breathing Sam was emitting and he prayed to God he would never have to not hear him breathe. "Stay with me, Sam. Hang on, for the love of God, stay with me." Sam listened, begging to hear the words repeated back to him, chocking when his brother never said them. Even being on the brink of death, Dean couldn't lie to his brother and Sam wanted to laugh. He did deserve the truth though and those words were only lies. Sam never stopped loving his brother though and never would, just wished he was with him to see him one last time.

Dean knew Sam didn't have the energy to talk so he didn't expect any words and he kept murmuring to his younger brother, telling him to hang on and they were oh so close. He didn't hear the breathing anymore and he was panicking. It didn't mean that his brother was dead, right? He probably dropped the phone and was out of range, _right?_ Plus his breathing might just be to weak to breathe loudly anymore, RIGHT? Dean was sweating and cursing and he kept talking to Sam, hoping that he would hear the sirens of the paramedics through the line.

Eventually, he did and he didn't hang up, hanging onto the words on the other line. He kept driving even as he heard the yelling of the aids and the scurry of feet and gasps. "Oh my god," he heard close to the phone and he closed his eyes tightly for a moment. "I've still got a pulse, no breathing though," and he heard manual breathes and more cursing as they started to move Sam around. He heard, "He's barely breathing, pulse is thready, he's going to crash. Let's go."

Dean didn't even bother going to the site of the forest, instead pulling a harsh left at the next light he saw and went directly for the closest hospital. He beat the paramedics there (although that wasn't a surprise), but he wasn't ready for the quick view of Sam that he got as he paced around the emergency area.

There was red. Everywhere. On Sam's face, staining all of his skin and barely there clothes and the white sheets of the gurney and dripping onto the tiled floor of the emergency entrance. The nurses were already covered in it, yelling out immediate orders and demands to get a Dr. Wilson and get this man prepared for surgery _stat._ It was too much and soon he collapsed into a heap of bones, the wheels of Sam's gurney echoing in his mind.

* * *

So, here's chapter 7. I wanted to get this chapter up very quickly in order to tell you that the next few chapters are going to take some time. I had written most of the story, but only up to this point. I believe that my chapters are fairly complex and I have a little bit to go still. But no worries! They will only take two to three days (that is my goal). Thank you, everyone, for reviewing my story. It helps motivate me and I get excited to read every one. So thank you, big time.

 **Nehaaa** : That's huge and thank you for reviewing. I'm so happy you like this story that much! I will definitely try to post as often as possible, but my fingers and brain only work so fast. But you have my word that every update will be fast. :)

 **Kas3y** : I can't wait to really dig into Sam's past with Dean. I think it'll be a huge moment for the brothers and really lead them forward in their strained relationship. It'll be tough, but so worth it. Thank you for reviewing. You're great!

 **double-0-nothing** : Aw, I was close to tears writing it, too. Plus, I agree with you about the hunter thing lol. Dean drives me crazy sometimes.

 **Savily** : You will definitely see more about Sam's bad habits, bad past life, and badass self in the upcoming chapters now that the brothers are back together (even if it's in unwanted circumstances). Thank you for the review!

Also, fun fact here! This was originally a wincest story. GASP. Just for fun, what are your thoughts on that? It's not gonna happen in this story, so no worries, but I am curious. Let me know. Enjoy. xoxo K.


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean woke up, it wasn't slow or steady. It was an immediate awakening, an overflow of his senses ricocheting his brain too quickly. His wide eyes told him he was in a room filled with too much white and his buzzing ears registered too many beeps and hums of machines. His tanned skin itched as an oxygen cannula tickled under his nose and his head hurt massively. Even as he knew it was a mistake, he sat up quickly, regretting it as immediate dizziness overtook him, and black spots colored his vision for a moment. A hand flew out to steady him, quickly rightening his swaying body and Dean found himself appreciating the sturdy and mysterious figure. He hadn't even realized that there was anybody in the room with him.

"Easy there, Dean," a soft, deep voice soothed. "You hit your head pretty hard," Dean turned towards the voice and took in the man in the doctor's uniform. He was a blonde with grey-green eyes, built like a tall and sturdy tree. He had bags underneath his eyes, purpling and stark against the mans pale skin and seemed inexplicably tired. "I'm Dr. James Wilson," a pale hand was suddenly in Dean's vision, making him jump slightly as the man introduced himself.

Dr. Wilson? How did he know that name? Dean shook his head, feeling stupid as he did, and stuck his hand out to shake the doctors. "Dean Winchester, as I'm sure you know. What happened here?"

"You collapsed after a certain patient rolled through the emergency room," the man's voice was soothing and he sat on a chair conveniently near the bed. The noise was disturbing, the _rrrrgtrrggt_ dragging noise annoying and starkly different than the man sitting in it. "You hit you're head on the floor and split it. We had to put a few stitches in, but you'll live."

Dean groaned, gently probing his head for the shaved and stitched area, wincing once his fingertips felt it. It felt small, only three stitches tucked into his skin. As he probed and winced, he remembered where the name Wilson came from. "My brother. You operated on him? How is he? Where is he? What happened? Take me to him now!"

"Slow down, slow down," Dr. Wilson soothed, the too calm nature of being a doctor almost making Dean panic. It had to be bad if the doctor fixed steady eyes on him and lowered his voice. "Sam is stable for the moment and recovering in ICU. You can visit him after we have prepared him for visitors and once we know how you are doing," his unique and calming eyes tracked Dean's own down and he lightly placed his hand on his patient's shoulder.

James was exhausted after going through the eight hour long surgery. When he first saw Samuel Winchester, he had little hope that he would make it through the extensive care he needed. Even as they prepped, the joining nurses were prepared for a dead table and were waiting for the doctor to call the time of death. Sam had crashed several times unfortunately, but even when his heart stopped for multiple minutes and his lungs deflated and were without oxygen, he lived on. His patient was a fighter and the doctor had an overwhelming sense of pride for such a man as he. It wasn't everyday that their patients would fight against death so reverently. "Your brother is a fighter, Dean," he patted Dean's arm gently. "We had lost him a few times, but he came back to us each time, even when we didn't believe he would. Right now though, Samuel is in a very critical condition. He may be stable at the moment, but he needs time to recover. Sam has several hundred stitches in him at the moment and his internal organs were pierced by the wolves which attacked him. We had to stop them from flooding and poisoning his system. Other than those internal injuries, he had a broken femur, a few broken ribs, and a fractured collar bone. He sustained multiple lacerations that have us concerned and a few tore through muscles and tendons that we have tried to repair. We have a fantastic physical therapy program here at Saint Mercy's and I am sure that you're brother will regain use of his right hand, but that is also on how Sam recovers. I also have a few other concerns pertaining to a more delicate nature, but we will tackle those as soon as Sam can answer those questions."

"His hand?" Dean voice was small, shocked. The doctor was kind in his deliverance, but it was a lot for just a man to swallow. The amount of information thrown at him was both numbing and electric in his body. The sensors in his body delivering multiple responses, but he knew two things. His brother may not ever recover and he needed to see his brother about yesterday. "Doc, I've got to see him. I have to _right now_."

The doctor nodded and smiled wearily. "I will have a nurse grab you once Samuel's room is complete. For now, rest. I will sign you out as soon as I get an update from Sarah, who is your main nurse today. So just so you are aware, we had to put Sam under a medical coma. He won't be conscious for awhile, but it necessary for his healing process." Dean nodded, shock settling into his bones and tried to smile back at the doctor. He needed to see his brother _now._ It only took two hours, _two hours too many,_ before he was rolled by a wheelchair into his brother's room by his concerned nurse. She warned him of how Sam may not look like Sam and that he was to be very gentle in handling. His brother couldn't take any more damage or stress.

Dean was allowed to walk to his younger brothers side, collapsing onto the chair that was near the bedside. His eyes must be betraying him as he rubbed the tears out. Sam looked inexplicably and undeniably dead. His skin was hued white and gray, tints of fading blue around his lips, bandages matting over multiple lacerations and stitches were black and prominent against the background of Sam's skin. A tube ran down Sam's throat and his head was wrapped carefully, an IV sticking in both of his hands and a catheter placed neatly away. The machines that were keeping Sam alive were loud and... and just too much. _This_ was not Sam. It couldn't be his Sammy. He had never seen Sam so still, so close to death, so beyond the realm of living that no one quite knew if he would come back. And as these revelations made themselves known, he couldn't handle them. Sobs overtook him as he bent over, barely holding himself together. The sobs came and came and came, but eventually Dean was able to take control of himself to start talking to his little brother. The nurse had told him many patients did well when surrounded by family members and could hear those familiar and soothing voices while in comas, even induced ones.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, tears tracking down his face. Sarah the nurse looked away, filled with almost guilt at witnessing such a simple declaration that rang love. She quickly debated leaving the patient alone and decided it would be best, sneaking out of the door to give the two privacy. "I'm here, I'm right with you," Dean nodded to himself, noticing the woman leaving from a glance at the door. "God, Sam. What were you thinking, taking on werewolves. You have no back up, man. You could've… you could die," another sob tore from his throat as Dean continued, tears splattering onto the thin blankets that curled around Sam's cold, warming body. Even while on the brink of death, his brother was a beautiful and bright being and Dean found it hard to believe Sam was so close to dying. "Come back to me, Sammy. I didn't tell you over the phone and I regret it, but I love you. And I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry for abandoning you. I was selfish and wrong and- and I need you. I need you so damn badly, it hurts, Sam. So come back to me, please. Please, man. I need you back and I need to tell you I love you," Dean gently grasped Sam's left hand, the only part that seemed to not be bandaged and breathed deeply, his tears finally stilling in the peace and heat of the moment. "Take your time, little brother, but come back to me soon."

* * *

Hello everyone! I am so sorry for such a late update. I meant to update before I left, but obviously that never happened. I went to Mexico for a week to build a house with a charity called **Amor** and was accompanied by my old high school teams that I previously built with. It's a trip that I have attended for 5 years and I obviously love it. That is the reason I have for no updates and I AM SORRY, but I am back!

So, with that being said, I have to say I rushed through trying to get this chapter up. This is just a filler chapter unfortunately. It is just to keep you guys waiting in angst and also to give me more time to edit the next chapters. A lot is happening in them and I have been wanting to make them as detailed, as emotional, and as perfect as possible. I have not given up on this story, so continue to review and to read! You guys are really fantastic. Thank you for the reviews that are posted and I promise to answer all of them in the next chapter. You'd make me super happy if some new reviews get posted (might even make me post faster!). Enjoy! xoxo K.


	9. Chapter 9

The first time Sam opened his eyes, he knew exactly where he was and had some idea what was going on. The tube down his throat confirmed that he was in an unstable and pathetic condition, so he remained calm as it breathed for him. His eyes took in the white walls and beeping machines, and most importantly, the empty chair beside his bed. His memories were fuzzy at best, blurring and blacking at the night he should've died, but he swore Dean had been coming for him. He remembered telling his brother he loved him, the clearest memory of the night, and that Dean never reciprocated the notion. His brother didn't love him anymore. So, when taking in that empty and uncomfortable looking hospital chair, it didn't take him by surprise. Sam didn't deserve his brother and definitely did not deserve to live, so as he shut his eyes, it was within full intentions of giving up on his life.

When the code blue echoed down the halls and into Dean's ears, he had no doubt it was for room 114 which was Sam's room. The cup of coffee he was currently nursing dropped onto the tiled floor for the umpteenth time and he raced to his little brother's side. Dr. Wilson, who had barely left Sam's reach, was calling out familiar orders to the ICU nurses and Dean didn't dare interfere. After the first two times of an orderly taking him outside the room, his brain registered he needed to stay out of the way in order to save his brother.

"I need 300 charge," James called, the nurses scurrying around him professionally. "Clear."

Dean swore to himself he would never forget the way Sam's body arched off the bed each time they electrocuted his heart. He would never un-see the pale skin rippling with charge nor the way the muscles tensed for unreal moments.

"Charge to 350," the doctor called after seeing the flat line remain on the screen, "Clear."

Fortunately, charge 350 was always when Sam was revived from death. It happened every single time and while Dr. Wilson and Dean had no idea why, they were thankful that it occurred. The flatline beeped once, twice, three, and four times more and steadied out, both Dean and Dr. Wilson taking a deep breathe and releasing it. They avoided death yet again.

"I want a 30 milligram of epinephrin in him and up his oxygen intake," the doctor scrubbed his hand on his recently grown beard and sighed, exhausted. "Keeping him stable and keeping him warm are the most important things right now. I want a heated blanket on his bed to open his capillaries up. Continually wrap him up every half hour for two hours. Good work, team."

Dean watched from afar, a tear tracing down his face. It was getting harder and harder to watch his Sammy deteriorate and he wondered if what they were doing was right. What if Sam really wanted to die? Dean wouldn't and couldn't even blame the kid. What did he really even have to come back to? His car? A father who went zero dark thirty on his ass? A brother who couldn't even utter the words 'I love you' when he was dying? No, Dean didn't deny that his brother didn't have a lot to fight for, but he would be damned to give up on Sam.

So, the second time Sam was able to open his hazel-blue eyes, the first thing he saw was Dean's emerald gaze and the first thing he heard was _Sammy._ He was mostly surprised by the intense worry he saw in his brother's eyes, so when he tried to take a deep breathe to speak, he forgot about the tube. It prevented air from filling his lungs, and oh god the burn of no oxygen was too familiar, too much, and the youngest Winchester found himself flailing for air.

"Sam," Dean called, eyes wide and pressing the call button, "Calm down, kiddo. You're ok. Let it breathe for you," he grabbed Sam's face gently and peered into the eyes he thought he would never see again. "You're ok, you're ok, you're ok." It was his mantra, his saving grace, as tears tracked their way silently over his cheeks. "You're ok, Sammy."

Sam stared right back into his big brother's eyes, calming himself and relaxing his desperate muscles, allowing the machine to work for him as his panic and confusion faded. Dean had never failed to calm him down quickly, never, and he was thankful as the burn of lacking oxygen steadily went away. He was ok for right now, just like Dean said.

"There you go," Dean whispered, thumbs rubbing his brother's too defined cheekbones. "Keep letting it breathe for you, Sam. You're doing so good," Sam blinked wearily, already tired from the exertion of energy he spent on flailing around in panic. He wanted to stay awake. Dean was here. _Dean was here._ "Dr. Wilson's coming Sam, just stay awake for a little longer."

And if Dean could have timed it more perfectly, he couldn't have done it, for as soon he uttered Dr. Wilson, the man appeared like magic. James strolled through the familiar room with grace and for the first time in weeks, he saw his patient's eyes. He paused, the amount of emotion rolling off of Dean and the panic from Samuel was overwhelming, but he continued forward as he saw the elder brother calming him. "Dean, Samuel," James walked to the bed side as he greeted the two. "Samuel, I'm Dr. Wilson. I've been your leading doctor here and I've got to say it is a pleasure to finally meet you properly," the elder man locked eyes with the youngest Winchester, feeling the pull of his heart strings that Dean had mentioned his little brother could give with just a look into the young man's eyes. "How about we remove that tube?"

Dean was thankful for Dr. James Wilson's calm demeanor. It had even soothed him in his own panic. After the man had called an adjoining nurse and removed the tube from his little brother, Dr. Wilson left with the promise of ice chips and another heated blanket. "I will be back in a few minutes," he made Dean aware as he watched Sam blink slowly. His patient was exhausted. "Dean, it is a miracle that your brother has made it this far. Don't push him right now. I know we've been waiting for this moment for a long time, but just let him rest. You can talk about everything later, just let him recover." Dean nodded, almost insulted that the doctor would even think that he would push his broken brother, but quickly rid himself of that. James had been nothing but a saving grace, an angel on earth for him and he was only doing what would be best for Sam.

"Of course, Doc," Dean nodded, sending a smile the doctors way and watching him nod and leave. He turned back to Sam, the smile still on his lips, and walked to his side. "You doing ok? You need more pain medication?" He fiddled with the button that would release the medication in Sam's system, but Sam only shook his head. He knew the medication would make him even more drowsy and he needed answers.

"H-," he coughed as his voice scratched. He lowered his voice to a mere whisper and continued, "How?"

"How what, kiddo?"

"How am I alive?"

Dean took his rightful place, right near Sam's bed, and breathed deeply. "It was a lot of close calls," he admitted. He knew his brother wanted straight answers and at this point, Dean would do anything for Sam, including murder. "You're heart gave up on you, on us, five different times. It's a miracle that you're here at all," Dean leaned forward slightly with teary eyes and grabbed Sam's uninjured hand, tracing circles on it. "I almost lost you, Sammy."

Sam nodded sharply, surprised by the amount of emotion that Dean was showing. Why was he even here? He didn't love him any longer. He removed his hand from Dean's and ignored the pang of guilt when Dean looked hurt. "Why," Sam almost cried, but kept his voice low and steady. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be alone any longer. "Why keep me here?"

Dean sat back, hurt racing through veins and his brain scurried to find the right words. Did Sam really want to die? "Sam," he whispered lowly and almost in panic. "I couldn't let you die. I couldn't not… you had to be here. I need you."

"You don't," Sam finally let the gate on his tears open. "I haven't been needed for six years, Dean."

"It was a mistake, Sam," Dean begged, leaning even more towards his little brother. "Leaving was a mistake and you know how I feel about it. I regret it with everything in me, Sammy. Please believe that. I can't… I can't live without you any longer. I love you, little brother."

Sam burned to hear those words make their way past Dean's lips, burned to here the exact words that were uttered to him just now, but they did not have the desired affect. He turned his head away from his brother, jaw clenched painfully, his head pounding and hand stinging in too much pain. "I meant what I said in February, Dean."

"Which part, Sam," Dean begged. There was too much that was said in that cold month for Dean to understand what Sam meant.

"You left me, Dean," Sam began and sobs about took over Dean as he recalled the famous three sentences that broke him apart. "You stayed gone," and oh god, how hard was it for Sam to utter these words again. They broke him, too, and pierced his heart with their frigidness. But he couldn't let his brother back in, no matter how much he wanted to. It was unfair and it was painful and it was hard, but it was the truth to him. Too much had happened to him because of Dean's leaving, and now that he was back and so close, Sam couldn't have his big brother back. He had nothing, nothing, _nothing_. "You're going to stay gone."

* * *

Poor Sammy. He's finally awake and on the mend, but still pushing Dean away. I figured I'd make up my lack of updates by posting this chapter super quickly and I have the next chapter about ready too, so expect that later today or even tomorrow. A certain truth is about to come out and it deals with what a lot of us have been waiting for Dean to find out about: John and Sam's past.

 **OogaBooga1234** : I know, last chapter was such a short and sad addition, but it did allow me to fix this certain chapter and the next few up! :) I hope that the wait was somewhat worth it. And I'm glad it doesn't overwhelm. I was worried about that, since I have updating some depressing stuff, but it's about to get better here soon (or will it?!). Thanks for the review and for sticking with me on this journey! :)

HUGE shoutout to everyone who has stuck with me in writing this and for those who have reviewed. Your reviews help me a lot and encourage to type a little faster, add a little more, and to keep going when I have hit walls and had no idea where this story was taking me. This is my very first fanfic and it has been such fun to write, thanks to you!

Hope you enjoy the chapter and remember, looking out for chapter 10 in the next day. It will be up very shortly! xoxo K.


	10. Chapter 10

"No."

Sam, whose face had been turned away from his brother, spun a little too quickly to look back at world titled for a quick moment before it rightened again. The word was uttered in the upmost amount of confidence and it exuded strength and no backing down. And damn, did it not shock the youngest sibling after the minutes of heavy silence.

"No," Dean repeated calmly. "I won't be leaving you, Sam. I belong right here and I know you know it, too. I belong with you, you with me and I should have never left. I know there's going to be a lot to fix, but you're stuck with me from now on. I love you and I'm not giving up on you, even if you have given up on yourself and me. I'll help carry your weight little brother because that is what older brothers do. You just rest, Sammy. I'll take care of everything else."

And Sam sobbed. He broke and kept breaking, even as Dr. Wilson walked into the room and even as nurses checked in on the loud, chocking sounds, and even as Dean soothed him. Sam broke and broke and broke.

And Dean kept his promise to his young brother. Dean carried weights Sam couldn't through the evils that came with hunting those werewolves. When Sam's body gave up on him through raging fevers and an infected liver, Dean was there through it all. He barely left his brother's side and it was peaceful for Sam. Even when he hallucinated that he was 15 again and Dean had left him, he felt a calming presence near him as he cried for his sibling. Even when he went under surgery to replace his almost dead liver, he felt Dean near under the anesthetic. And slowly, he felt Dean's love wrap him in it's warm blanket.

But, even with Dean near him supplying the strength he didn't have for himself, he refused to forget what had happened. He held himself back from opening up about his father and what had happened within the six years that Dean was absent for.

"What happened when I left," Dean asked once while Sam fiddled with his computer. Hunts were still out there and he knew that he was close to being released. Dean had prevented him from signing AMA forms, so all he could do was research for possible hunts. But as his older brother asked the question, he froze. What was he going to say?

"Uhm," he began, licking his suddenly dry lips. "Nothing much, I guess. We continued hunting, I dropped school." He shrugged and continued typing into the search bar.

"Nothing much, Sam? You loved school," Dean recalled all the times little Sammy racing home to complete his homework before his dad would rip him away on a hunt. And nothing much? No. Dean knew his brother was lying, he felt the lie go over his head and he gently grasped Sam's computer, shutting it as Sam withdrew his fingers. He could see a sheen of sweat decorate his siblings forehead and he could see his hands shake. "What happened, Sam? Other than that."

Sam had never felt such a fear palpitate in him like this, not even when his dad was angry or when a djinn decided to hunt him down. This? This was new and it scared him. He couldn't tell Dean that his father, his brothers _hero_ , wasn't what he thought. Sam considered himself an orphan, but Dean didn't. His father was still a father. "N-nothing, Dean."

"Why are you lying to me," Dean continued, but his voice hardened. His brother would tell him what happened and based on his reaction, it was something serious.

"I'm not," Sam looked him straight in the eye, barely concealing his fear. Dean, of course, saw it, and calmed his building anger.

"Sam, you know you can tell me anything," he grabbed Sam's still bandage wrapped hand. "I'm not going to leave again. I'm here with you and it's going to be ok. Not even a wnegio can separate us," he joked, but Sam was far from that. At the thought of a wnegio, he was caught up in a painful and somewhat recent memory.

 _Sam was exhausted. The hunt had turned from awful to fucked up faster than you could say wendigo. The damn thing had a perfect night, hiding amongst the patter of rainfall and flashes of lightning, the rolling of thunder masking any noise it might have made. Both John and Sam were injured from a run in with a mud slide from the torrential weather, but John refused to go back to the motel. They had to kill the fucker tonight. The both of them had made their way to the suspected cave, but soon amongst the storm and random luck, the wendigo got the drop on them and took John._

 _Sam raced against time, ignoring the sharp pangs of pain in his knee and ankle and the pulling of skin at too deep wounds. He couldn't let his Dad die. Against all odds, Sam made it just in time and lit the fucker up, grabbed John, and settled them back into the Blue Bird room. He had just finished patching his father on the only bed, who surprisingly wasn't too banged up, when John grabbed ahold of Sam tight._

 _"You son of a bitch," the words spoken were low and level, not wavering in anger. This was a much worse taste of the bitterness inside John. "You stupid son of a bitch. You let him get the drop on me, you wanted me gone."_

 _"N-no, sir. I swe-," Sam stuttered, pain radiating in his shoulders from John's stupid, strong strength. The idea wasn't logical, but Sam knew his dad was past that as anger bristled._

 _"No," John growled, clamping even harder onto the young man's shoulders. "I think you did. I think you wanted me to die tonight. And you know what? You failed." The sudden drop of weight from Sam's shoulders shocked him enough that Sam didn't see the fist come down upon him. It went on for what seemed forever, before Sam was quickly turned over, his shirt torn from his too skinny body, and pinned._

 _"No! No, not that, please not that," Sam screeched and begged, fearing the worst from this monster he called a father. This made John pause before he let out a deep, chilling chuckle._

 _"Oh," Sam could hear the sneer in John's voice. "Oh, Sam. Sammy boy. Even if I wanted to, you're too dirty and worthless. I wouldn't taint myself with you. But this? I can do this." It wasn't foreshadowed, so when a knife dug into the sinew of Sam's muscle and skin and ligaments and bones, it shocked the hell out of him. Then the pain began._

 _John went slow, carving into his boy's back with a precision that surgeons trained for. He knew that the path he took was one that wouldn't fatally injure the kid, but would mark him for life and show him pain that John could inflict. It took long time and Sam's screams had died long before he was finished, but he made sure he was awake the entire time. So, by the time John climbed off Sam, the motel was a mess. Blood dripped over his back onto orange carpet and bruises were already purpling onto his already messed up skin. Sam knew exactly what John had carved into his back, he felt every single slice of the knife, and he cried silently. Marked. John had marked him, owning him like he would own an animal. That's when Sam knew John was no longer his father, just a man he had been cursed with._

"Sammy!" He was jerked back into the present by Dean's calls and jerkily scooted back. He felt wet tears and his shaking body, his lungs were working overtime to keep up with his breathing. "Sam, it's ok. You're ok. Keep with me," Dean was panicked. He had never seen Sam so scared in his life. Even when Sam could feel death creeping on him, Sam wasn't terrified. No, this was beyond anything he could comprehend.

"Don't, don't, don't," Sam muttered, shutting his eyes and shaking, still somewhat lost within the past. The scar flared on his shoulder and he found it amazing that the doctors hadn't brought it up or that Dean had yet to find out about it. "Stop, please. No."

"Calm down, Sammy. No one's going to hurt you," Dean grabbed Sam's hands and gently pulled them from his face. "I'm here."

"Dean, I need Dean," Sam breathed erratically and he couldn't understand what was happening. He wasn't supposed to be here any more, he wasn't supposed to be with John.

And like he had so many weeks ago, Sam broke. He broke down as memories came flooding in and slipped past his lips to listening ears.

 _John pressing against his windpipe, his hands bruising and unforgiving after letting a chupacabra get away._

 _John raining hell upon Sam because a kid looked like Dean and they both got their hopes up that they had found him._

 _John snapping Sam's ribs after a particular rough night in hustling pool._

 _John sneaking Sam out of a hospital while he was still unconscious with a concussion he barely survived._

 _Worthless._

 _"You are nothing, Sam."_

 _Bait._

 _"No wonder Dean left us. Who would love you?"_

 _An abomination._

 _Not a son, but rather an animal._

 _Branded._

 _Un-loved._

 _He had nothing and was nothing._

 _Alone._

* * *

I really have it out for Sam, huh? All the happy feels are coming and an appearance from angry, protective Bobby. In this story, Bobby knows that John didn't treat Sam the best, but not the extent to physical abuse. I haven't really thought about adding John, but I think with the amount of support behind this story, I will include him in later chapters. So, for me and you, that means that this story has officially gotten longer! Thank you and I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. xoxo K. :)


	11. Chapter 11

PREVIOUSLY on Going, Gone, Gone:

 _John pressing against his windpipe, his hands bruising and unforgiving after letting a chupacabra get away._

 _"No wonder Dean left us. Who would love you?"_

 _An abomination_

 _Not a son, but rather an animal_

 _Branded_

 _Un-loved_

 _He had nothing and was nothing._

 _Alone._

* * *

Chapter 11

The first thing Dean did was stand up. Then, without even thinking about it, he ran to the bathroom and threw up the contents in his stomach. Even when it was purged of everything, he continued to gag and spit up the bitter stomach acid that traveled up his throat. His world had just been turned upside down, sideways, split apart, and stapled back together within minutes. His father? His _little_ brother? He didn't imagine any of that happening and couldn't even think for a moment that his father, his god damn hero, would beat his little brother to pieces verbally and physically. He couldn't comprehend that the father that had loved him would think so lowly of his little Sam. Sam was the most beautiful and most perfect son a father could ask for. Dean would know as he practically raised him.

Sam sat still on the uncomfortable hospital bed. The shaking in his hands only intensified as he heard his brother hurl and gag into the white throne. This was it, this was the moment that Sam wanted to avoid his entire life. He was going to be left alone again. His brother was going to leave him again. Now that the truth was out and his brother finally understood what had happened in his not too distant past, it was going to be the end of their relationship. Any hunter could tell you that their nightmares were of the beasts they hunted, but for Sam Winchester? It was being totally and completely alone. He knew Dean would hide himself better than before, making it years before his young sibling could even find his trace, but Sam knew he wouldn't bother his brother like that. No, he couldn't be alone like that.

So, Sam prepared himself as any solider would when walking into a battle. He took deep gulps of air and calmed his shaking hands the best he could. They still had tremors seizing them, but they were less earth shattering than before. Dean had stopped making any type of noise minutes ago and Sam couldn't take the silence any longer. "Dean?"

"I'm here, Sam," Sam _._ Not Sammy. "Just… just give me a few minutes, yeah?"

Sam nodded to his bathroomed brother and closed his eyes, the never ending tears streaking his face. They traced his sharp cheekbones, the ones that were too bony, and ran down his swallowing throat and seeped into the gown he wore. The blue and white designs darkened with abused tears and the owner of the waterworks never brushed them away. Sam was so lost, so within this dark and hollow world of despair that he didn't hear his brother come back into the room.

Dean looked upon his brother, his _abused_ brother, and could feel the waves coming off of him. He knew his sibling didn't just tell him the few stories of his dad, but relived them in his mind as he did. Dean had no idea his father could turn like that, just because he had left them, but he was filled and topped with an unintelligible amount of guilt. _If I had just stayed,_ he about cried. But this wasn't about him, he knew that. Right now, this was about Sam. So, he rolled the guilt off his shoulders and into the recess of his mind, crossing the hospital room with 5 and a quarter strides. Sam was crying and Dean hated when his brother cried.

"It's ok, Sammy," he hushed, soft fingers erasing the tears that Sam should not cry. "It's ok. I'm here." Was this the reason why Sam wanted Dean to stay gone? Did he hate his brother, not just for leaving, but for his father turning against him and using him like an animal?

Sam didn't make any moves, allowing his brother to contort him into his position. Dean had climbed on the bed and very gently slid his brother forward, taking his position behind him and cradled him against his strong shoulders that would harbor the weight of Sam's world if he could. "I'm so sorry," Dean cooed and held the shaking man tight. "I'm so sorry."

The giant brother shook his head and continued to sob quietly into Dean. It wasn't Deans fault his father hated him, used him, abused him. Sam had thought that he had grown strong out of it, becoming a better hunter and killer because of the hits his soul and body took. "N-no Dean. Not your fault," he barely made it past his lips, but he had to make sure it was not Deans fault. Sure, maybe Dean's leaving catapulted John into actions, but years beforehand he was delivering verbal and a distanced physical abuse to his youngest son. Who was always bait? Sam. No matter how many times Dean begged. Whose fault was it when a hunt went wrong (even when it wasn't)? Who got the tongue lashings? Sam. And never, ever, was it Dean Winchesters fault. "Not you, Dean. Not your fault."

Being a broken man with a broken soul did things to Sam. He shoved emotions to the back, both hardening and loosening his morals all in the name of saving people. When he did that, Sam didn't realize he pushed himself back, who he really was and he didn't need anyone to remind him of that. And that's when, while laying in the arms of his personal angel, Sam realized why he pushed his brother so far away. It wasn't Dean who truly hurt him. His brother left, yes, but was that a sin? He had the opportunity to make a healthier and happier life and Sam would be damned to not let his brother take that. And ya, it took a long time to get over and it was the catalyst to every damn beating, but it was not Dean who broke him. John did the breaking and snapping of bones and of his soul. And it was now, finally, that Sam finally saw his mistakes in pushing Dean away.

"No, I'm sorry," the words were garbled and quiet with tears, but Dean still heard.

"Why are you sorry, kiddo," he nuzzled the top of Sam's mop with his nose taking in his natural scent, his own tears staining the dark hair beneath him.

"I," Sam paused, taking in the moment. It was heavy and filled with an intense nature, but it was also somewhat peaceful. "I pushed you away. I shouldn't have. I should've… stayed or something, Dean. I just left and that wasn't right. And you've taken such good c-care of me. And… and I need my big brother." The room was quiet, only silent tears disturbing it as the two brothers held each other.

"You've got me, Sammy. I'm never going to leave you again, alright kiddo? I promise you," he titled Sam's head back and connected eyes. It was a personal experience to gaze upon a broken mans soul and Dean felt nothing but honored to catch a glimpse of how broken his brother was. It was a starting place for him, so he could help put his Sam back together. "I'm going to help you."

"You do so much," Sam whispered back. "How?"

"Because I love you, Sammy."

And Sam burned in the best of ways because he finally believed Dean. He knew his brother truly and really loved him. He smiled, dimples and tears and all, not hiding anything. "I love you, too, Dean."

The brothers were wrapped in each other, simply enjoying each others comfort, when they noticed a man standing in the doorway, a man that the two hadn't seen in a long time. His dark brown hair and scrapped knuckles were familiar, the destroyed jeans and stained flannel comfortable. His dark eyes connected with the two cuddled on the too small bed, tears watering his eyes as he stepped forward, tipping his old ball cap.

"About time you two idgits made up. Thought I was gonna die before I saw you two sweethearts back together."

* * *

Guys, I have to apologize. I have been so slow in these updates, but writing is getting harder and harder as my schedule piles up. I finally committed to running a marathon and I'm picking up another 4 hour credit course on top of already having 15 credit hours. BUT fortunately, I have written the next three chapters. I will be spacing them out so I have time to write the story before making y'all wait another crazy amount of time. So expect updates! Thank you EVERYONE for reviewing. I absolutely love it when you all have feedback for me and it really helps me write more and more. While this is one of the shorter chapters in this story, the rest are actually decently long and have a lot more content. Hope you enjoy. xoxo K.


	12. Sweet Child O' Mine

Quick A/N. I'm going to start titling my chapters now. Yay. :) So, I have officially named this chapter _Sweet Child O' Mine_ by Guns N Roses. Yes, you may ask why, but I won't bore you with why right now. ENJOY!

* * *

Bobby Singer. Not many words could describe the grizzly man, but most languages did not have the words that encompassed him as a whole. There were harsh words like drunk, deranged, filthy, and angry, but then there were also much more accurate words: passionate, protective, skilled, deadly, and many more. But of all those words, none came close to describing his hidden caring nature. The Winchesters were of the few men that came in contact with its full power. The few that had been placed underneath the man's wing.

When Sam saw Bobby standing in his hospital room, it came as a shock. In the six years that Dean had been gone, he only spoke with him on the phone. Most importantly though, he only saw the man once when he was 15. His dad had tried hiding him in the car on a hot summer day claiming that Sam wasn't feeling well. John had just beaten him bloody about 15 or so hours before making his way to Bobby's place in South Dakota and he had always wondered what happened when John had taken off no less than ten minutes after arriving. He suspected that Bobby had wanted to see him and John had refused.

"Bobby," Dean basically squeaked out, not moving from his position, but blood did rise to color his cheeks embarrassed. "How'd ya know we were here?"

The gruff hunter had not expected Dean when he initially heard about Sam's hospitalization. Hell, it was the last thing he truly expected. The eldest brother had left the family business and had stayed hidden successfully, leaving Bobby unexplainably happy that at least one Winchester could have a life without monsters and blood. So, seeing Dean definitely surprised him. But that wasn't his greatest surprise. Bobby had been the one to send Sam on the dangerous trip and when he hadn't heard from the young man, he became concerned. From what he was allowed to see of the police file, Sam should not have survived. To see Sam breathing was a miracle.

"Bobby was the one who sent me on the hunt," Sam replied evenly, his tears drying up. Dean felt an inexplicable anger burn in his veins as he heard that it was Bobby, his second father, who sent Sam to his death. But Sam gripped his wrist tight, his huge paws cooling him. "He didn't know, Dean. Hell, I didn't either. Let it go. It wasn't his fault."

Dean nodded stiffly, still slightly pissed that it had been Bobby to alert the hunt to Sam, but forgave him anyways. He motioned for Bobby to take a seat beside them, refusing to let his young brother out of his arms now that he got him in them. The older hunter slid in the chair with a groan. His body was sore and tired from the long drive he had taken. The feeling of the slightly more comfortable hospital chair was welcomed as he leaned back, finally relaxing. He was with his boys.

"What happened Sam? Last I heard from you…," he stole a quick glance at Dean, a little nervous about bringing it up, but continued anyways. "You were on your way here. That was months ago."

"Why'd you only come now," Dean bit out. He understand why Bobby was here, but he didn't understand why he had taken so long to found out what happened. He thought the man had cared about them. Then again, that was six years ago.

"Dean…," Sam cough uncomfortably, but Bobby held his hand up and sighed deeply.

"I should've known something was wrong sooner," he admitted. "But, Dean, the way Sam and John hunt now is different. Not hearing from them in months is almost guaranteed. I'm not blaming Sam or your daddy, but it's how we have functioned the past few years. Especially now that Sam's been hunting on his own," Bobby's eyes showed how difficult it was for him to go months without talking to Sam. John, he could do without, but Sam was definitely the one he cared about most. Something about how John came across that one summer day struck deep within the old hunter and he never did figure out what exactly was wrong. "I'm sorry, Sam. I should've come sooner."

"You didn't know," Sam shifted his body to face Bobby, watching as the man finally got a clear and long look at him. The new scars raised on his shoulders and arms, trailing invisibly down his back and onto his legs, were gruesome. But they were marks of war, of survival. Sam may have had a lot of different types of scars and stories behind them, but these he was proud of. "There were three werewolves," Bobby chocked, eyes wide and face reddening. "I was only aware of the two, even after all my research and you couldn't have possibly known. He came out of nowhere, Bobby. I had no idea what was coming, but I got him," a humble pride seeped into Sam as he said the words. Three werewolves was epic point of his life, everything revolving around the pinnacle moment. Life and death, Dean and Bobby.

"Looks like he got you, too, boy," Bobby smiled and gently patted Sam's open shoulder. He couldn't believe that Sam had taken out three werewolves and lived to tell the tale. And while he knew it was too close to death, he couldn't help the tight grip of pride in his heart. His boy had survived, again, even after death had him in his hands. He had gotten the full story from Dr. James Wilson and he had admittedly thrown up once he was told Sam's heart had stopped five times over the past two months. Mentally, he tallied all the times that death had gripped Sam and he threw up again. How much could Sam's heart take, he pondered. Then again, it was Sam Winchester and he was the strongest man he knew. But, he stopped his thoughts from roaming too far as his eyes tracked over Sam and Dean once more. He realized most men would have been uncomfortable interacting with the two cuddling brothers. To Bobby though? To Bobby it was part of his family.

"Not as bad as I got him," Sam nodded sharply, eyes ablaze with emotion, and Dean chuckled.

"Can't get deader than dead, huh, Sammy," Dean swiped a hand through Sam's hair as his little brother relaxed against him again. The younger siblings body naturally curled around his own like it had when they were little and Dean couldn't help the smile that reappeared on his face.

"Nope," Sam muttered, yawning as he took in Bobby again. The man was worn down and tired, but he was holding quite the mask. Sam saw through it in a second. He had to. He was too damn good at his job to not be able to tell when someone was wearing mask, so he yawned again, snuggling further into his big brothers warmth and giving the man an opportunity to get some rest as he took his own. "Going to sleep now," he murmured tiredly.

Dean adjusted slightly, grabbing a corner of the blanket and making sure his sasquatch body was completely covered. It was 6 in the evening and Sam's sudden tiredness made sense. They had been up all day and an automated dose of relaxants were shooting into Sam as they spoke.

"He's had a long day," Dean murmured a few minutes later, flipping an annoying piece of Sam's hair out of his face.

"I can tell," Bobby nodded along, his calloused hands wringing together nervously. Seeing Dean was… well, it was awesome. He never thought he would see the eldest brother again and it made his brain confused. Once he had accepted that Dean was gone for probably forever, he hadn't thought about it since.

"How have you been?"

The question was quiet, offered as an ice breaker and Bobby gladly took it. "I've been good, kid. Just been doing the usual, manning the phones, taking a few hunts every once in awhile."

"You're slowing down, old man," Dean smirked, and just like that, it was like he was never gone. Six years may have passed between the two, but it didn't matter to either of them. What mattered was now and now Dean was back, here, and with his brother. All was right within this world.

"I'd like to see you hunt down a djinn with a busted kneecap," Bobby mumbled good naturally, glaring at the young man. "Not as fun as it is with a good knee."

Dean thought back about old hunts and the old times. It was painful for him to reflect, especially now with knowing what exactly went down when he was gone, but he marveled that he had never got involved with a djinn case. "You know, you're going to have to find one for Sam and I here. Never even heard of those bastards."

Bobby shrugged his shoulders, knowing that Sam had once been in very bad shape because of a djinn hunt. The youngest Winchester had gone on other djinn hunts, but he had done so reluctantly. Whatever had happened on that hunt never made it back to Bobby and whenever he tried talking about it to John, he had shut down and told him to mind his own damn business. "Sure, when Sam's up for it."

Dean nodded along, realizing as they were talking he had been combing Sam's ridiculously long hair. Fortunately, for both of the brothers, Sam had been permitted to take very short showers and Sam had focused on washing his long hair. So, as Dean dragged it between his own fingers, it was like silk. Not only was it ridiculously soft, but Dean also found it relaxing, soothing, and it felt right. His hand danced along his brothers head, feeling the scars it had endured over the years of hunting before his hand drifted down his neck and glided to a stop on his shoulder. His hand rested a moment as Sam flinched, but he continued on sleeping and Dean began his track back up to his brother's hair. It was a circuit, a pattern, and Dean smiled gently. He had his little brother in his arms, in his rightful place. Away from John.

"Hey Bobby," Dean asked after a minute of staring down at the giant. The random thought about his father stirred something of a dark curiosity in him and he had to do something about it. The fact that he and Sam had talked about his time away less than a few hours ago was fresh and still burned his veins, but he had to do something. He couldn't just let John get away with this and no way in hell could he let that bastard keep doing what he was doing to his brother. Sam may have thought he had everything under control now, being 21 and away from John. But Dean saw the signs that followed with an abusive relationship. Sam followed every order, direct or indirect, from their father and he feared that John would try to do something to his sibling. When he closed his eyes, all he could think about was John sending Sam into a death trap or working the kid until he was nothing but a body and a set of eyes. Dean had full faith that John would slowly break his brother until there was nothing more, and yes, he did believe that John could possibly kill Sam with an unaided hunt. He wasn't going to let John have the chance though.

Bobby remained silent, only answering Dean with his eyes. He sensed something was coming at him and he wanted to be prepared for the inevitable nuke that the older brother would drop. When Dean looked up and at him, he saw tears reappear in the green eyes and he just knew someone had messed with Sam and that someone was going to pay. "What is it, Dean," he leaned forward, concerned with the amount of silence that followed the question.

"Where's my father?"

* * *

I really loved writing this chapter and I am so happy with how it turned out. The first draft had been _awful (I mean like, awful awful)_ so I trashed it and rewrote a different story line and this actually turned out better. I hope you all like it! The reviews help so much, you have no idea. I read them and it makes me happy that you are all so patient for my updates and that you enjoy the story. Please continue to review. I love you all! xoxo K. :)


	13. Bat Out Of Hell

_**Previously on Going, Gone, Gone:**_

 _"What is it, Dean," he leaned forward, concerned with the amount of silence that followed the question._

 _"Where's my father?"_

* * *

There was a man in the world that seemed to transcend many others. This man's strength, bravery, and mystery was rumored among many until they saw the truths themselves. His uncanny ability to destroy the darkness surrounding towns and people made his name well known, even outside of his own operating circle. Every job he had was completed within weeks, sometimes days, saving countless lives and risking his own. Many times did he get hurt. The scars that had decorated his body told of the tales and he wore them with a pride of a warrior.

This man was a great man, although not a good one.

Along his travels, his dark eyes got darker and a bleakness filled his heart. With every kill came a price and he was paying it in full. He became desensitized, rougher, and quieter. He was starting to become a stranger as he aged with a grace he only seemed to possess.

Bobby Singer knew this man, had known him for longer than he knew most people. It had felt that way at least. When John Winchester had first stumbled across his path, he had believed he was meeting a legend. He was a hero and Bobby wanted that in his life. Becoming friends with the Winchester was easy, as John had been tugging along two small children as he hunted monsters. Having a warm and protected home eased the two adults relationship as Bobby opened it up to the young boys. He had never imagined that he would be gaining two sons as he did and he had never been happier.

Dean and Sam grew up fast, following their father's orders and becoming true warriors in every sense of the term. The eldest brother was quick and good with any weapon he came in contact with, excelling in the art of hand to hand combat and reading people. Sam, on the other hand, had taken a liking to research and shooting a sawed off shotgun, also excelling in the ability of close engaged battle and emotionally connecting with victims and their loved ones. And although the hand to hand was more about wrestling with his brother constantly and his emotions more potent than the elder Winchesters, the other two skills couldn't have been more different. The story of a book and the violence of a powerful gun varied greatly. To John and Dean, it didn't make sense, but Bobby understood that two opposites sometimes came together perfectly.

The visits started to become rare opportunities for Bobby to catch up with the boys. The Winchesters had made a grand name in the world of the supernatural and they continued to follow the call of the hunt. One year, Bobby only saw a ten year old Sam once. He saw Dean and John plenty, but Sam had stayed invisible to his eyes until a late December. He didn't like what he had seen, the kid bruised and etched into like an etch a sketch, but he didn't question it after hearing the dirty tale of a pissed off ghost and the anger that burned in John's dark eyes.

The years had started to fly and before he knew it, Dean was gone. It was a hot July night when he got a panicked call from John, asking if he had heard from his eldest son. When he had said no, silence rung loud and clear. Bobby remembered the exact moment that his old friend had figured it out. Dean had left them and most likely was never going to come back, destroying not only John and Bobby's world, but also little Sam's. It came as a shock, especially to Bobby, when John had mumbled that his eldest must have ran away. Dean was enthusiastic about his lifestyle from what Bobby had gathered. He figured if anyone was going to run, it was going to be puppy dog eyed Sam. He knew the youngest Winchester didn't embrace the life with full opportunities and he couldn't blame the kid. Who would want a life filled with nothing but death and gore? John had cut off the call when Bobby heard Sam ask where Dean was, muttering an insufficient goodbye.

And that was the last long conversation that Bobby ever held with John. He would call and check up on the Winchesters, but he could tell Dean's leaving had scared them deeper than they let on. Sam barely talked while on the phone, only quietly answering his questions and remaining silent until he was spoken to. And John seemed to have taken a step outside of himself and was only answering Bobby's calls out of a duty of friendship. But, when John randomly showed up on his property in June, Bobby was only happy he could see the two again. Until he realized that his long time friend and accomplice John was saying goodbye to him.

"Bobby, you've been good to us. Better than that really, but we… we're going to stay gone for awhile. Just be Sam and I. Hunt and do what us Winchester's do best," the words haunted Bobby to this day still because he knew something was atrociously wrong.

He begged to see Sam, to talk to the boy and say goodbye too, and see what was going on with his dad. But John had refused. He did so with such a passionate fury, Bobby had ducked out of the way of anger. And he never saw them again.

A year and a half passed before he heard from any Winchester. Sam started to call once in awhile, asking about hunts and other hunters. John had sent him hunting alone once he hit 16 and while Bobby disagreed, there was nothing he could do about it. So he helped regretfully. He would inquire where Sam's father was constantly, ask what they were doing and why they had left. Sam stayed silent about it all, only murmuring that his Dad wanted this.

So, when Dean asked where his father was, Bobby truly had no idea. The question didn't come as a shock to him either. He had expected it as soon as he had gotten over his shock at seeing his eldest adopted son. "Dean," he had began, his hand wiping his tired face and rubbing the scruffy beard he was sporting. "I don't know where your father is. Sam and I looked and he's just gone. We've got nothing."

Dean stared down the hunter, his eyes searching for the lie or the deception to hide John, but he nodded once he realized Bobby was telling the truth. He wondered how much he knew about Sam's six years and let out a small puff of annoyed air. It disrupted part of Sam's long locks, tossing them about, and Dean soothed them back into a laying position. "I need to find him."

"Don't we know it, son," Bobby nodded sharply at Dean, understanding his desperation to find John. "We'll find your daddy and we can kick his ass, the damn idgit."

 _I'm going to kill him, not kick his ass_ , Dean mentally replied, but ended up just nodding his head and relaxing back into the hospital pillows. "Ya, Bobby. We will."

While Bobby was on the brink of exhaustion, he was still a hunter through and through. He could recognize the need to kill in someone's eyes and he automatically knew that Dean wasn't talking about just kicking his father's ass. He had a dark curiosity build in him when he saw it, almost frightened by the black look in Dean's eyes. "Dean, what are you planning?"

"Do you know what that bastard did to Sam?"

And when Bobby heard those words seethed to him, his suspicions that haunted him were confirmed. Nightmares and dark thoughts had consumed him for years, making a nights sleep almost impossible. And Singer had seen some dark crap over his years. He had seen women torn straight in half, men transforming into unnatural and contorted figures, children drained of blood, but nothing quite scared him as much as John Winchester harming his own child. Not just because John was a scary SOB, but John knew everyone's buttons. Sam's had been Dean's and the old hunter knew that was exactly what John had used against the young brother. He also feared he used fists to make the point. So when Dean spit the words at him, he did know. But only within the seconds that it took for it to be confirmed. "Dean… listen, kid. I didn't know. I suspected something, but it's John. I didn't know what he was going to do half the time… and god damnit," he rubbed tears out of his own eyes and bowed his head. That's why John didn't let him see Sam when they left. "That bastard."

And Dean held out a hand, Bobby grabbing it in haste to ground himself. Both men were uncomfortable with how many emotions were being shown, but they needed this. They needed each other so that they could be there for Sam. "I'm going to kill him, Bobby," Dean whispered, eyes closed and hands flexing around both Sam and his second father. "I'm going to kill him."

And Bobby Singer, hunter of rare and extraordinary things, protector of humans, and researcher of the wicked, was going to let him. Because when something laid their hands on what was his, especially his boys, there was going to be hell to pay and it was going to be paid in full.

* * *

So, that was Robert Singer's own past with the Winchester's and how this new revelation is for him. This sort of also sets up how his role is going to be played throughout the rest of the story, too. I had NO idea it was so hard writing Bobby and oh lord I struggled. I probably didn't get him spot on, but I hope I wrote him well enough for you guys. What did you think? Good? Bad? Let me know!

HUGE thank you/shout outs to: **double-0-nothing, IcyFox West, pottyandweezlebe89, QueenBea93, shadowdancer33996, trucklady53, BononzaRocks, Nehaaa, and Guest** for input means A LOT. I cannot stress how happy it makes me to see reviews and to see other opinions.

You are all awesome. Thank you for sticking with me on this journey. Stay tuned for the fast approaching adventure in hunting down John. xoxo K. :)


	14. Chapter 14

Weeks passed by much like a plane does to the human eye. One minute you can track the seemingly slow object, watch as it trails across the infinite sky, but it's gone in only two. Each day was a new one, presenting new challenges and new conversations, but it passed by quickly and unbelievably so. And soon, the youngest Winchester was allowed out of the confining hospital, back into his life, a new one with his brother beside him.

And while it had been weeks-nine to be exact- the brothers and their pseudo father had made no further progress on John. No hunters had made contact with the man and no hunts had been mysteriously done. John Winchester had officially dropped off the map and into a new world where no one could find him. This knowledge was festering on the Winchesters. Dean wanted blood. Sam wanted nothing to do with John.

So they hunted. Dean learned that vampires were real, that they truly had a second set of teeth that extended and would rip and tear into the sinew of muscles and tendons. The scar on his collarbone proved it. But he also knew what it looked like to see his giant of a brother clear the head of said vampire right off the neck, watch as blood spurted onto himself and freckled, and watched with a dark fascination as Sam smirked as he did it.

One day, Dean asked about a djinn hunt. He had gathered his own research (who says that the eldest Winchester can't research?) and was practically gnawing at the bit. He wanted this hunt badly, only for the reason that it, too, was new to him. Bobby nodded, glancing as Sam hardened his gaze and strutted away. He had only disappeared for minutes, but he agreed to the hunt and swung them into action.

"A djinn," Dean murmured dreamily (pun completely intended) and rolled his head to face Sam. They had been in their motel for hours, waiting for the opportune time, but the young man had not once seen his brother relaxed, excited, or even remotely emotional about the hunt. Sam was quiet. "Sammy," he tried to catch his brother's attention, but he was set on looking out onto the dull street of the town in a back mountain area in Colorado. Damn things loved cave dwellings and the Rockies offered many places for it. "Sam. Sammy? SAM."

His brother huffed, fingers tightening around the tumbler of golden alcohol, before turning away from his post to face him. "What?"

Dean momentarily thought about teasing his sibling. He was cranky (well, crankier than usual) and he wanted to raise his spirits. Yet, as the words played on his tongue, something told him he shouldn't mess around. Sam obviously was taking this hunt more seriously than the others and that spoke levels to the eldest. "When are we leaving?"

Sam knew it wasn't the original reason he was called for. They knew that once the clock strikes 6, an hour before the sun would begin to set, they would be on their feet in some cave searching out the bastard. So, he relayed the information again and watched as Dean sighed heavily, bored. "You want some," he shook his glass, the liquid sloshing with just enough noise to pique interest.

"Nah," Dean had barely touched alcohol since returning to the hunting lifestyle. There was no real reason, he just hadn't needed it like Bobby and Sam did. He didn't blame the hunters, knowing that they harbored gorier and hellish memories, but he wished that wasn't the case. "Don't you go getting drunk on me."

Sam let out a bitter laugh, bristling anger pressing against his chest and pulsing in his head. DIdn't matter if he was drunk, although he was never going to be on a hunt with Dean. Even if this particular djinn was of a lower class and wouldn't be too hard, it was a djinn. And he never wanted to go back to those lucid like dream-nightmares it sucked him in the first time. "Don't worry big brother," he downed the rest, relishing the burn. "I could still kick the djinn's ass and yours for that matter."

And then six came around. Sam entrusted Dean with carrying the silver knife coated in lamb's blood, wanting Dean to feel the success of killing a monster, as he carried a duffle bag he would stuff somewhere in case there was an emergency. Dean thought it was smart, Sam knew it could be needed. Desperately needed.

Eventually, the cave ended and so did the djinn. The four woman it had taken were dead and lost within their swirls of dreams and violence, and Sam couldn't help but feel bad for the souls that were stuck reliving it every day and every night. He shrugged it off, mentally calculating how injured Dean was when he was tossed around. A sprained ankle with how he carried himself, bruised ribs with the too gentle intakes of air, and some scratches that would sting under the antiseptic he would liberally apply, but his brother was fine.

"So that's what a djinn's like," Dean arched an eyebrow, taking in Sam's grim face. "Not so genie like to me," he scoffed and toed the dirt in the cave.

"Won't be getting your three wishes," Sam nodded, struggling to lift his lips into a smile. "Let's get out of here," he lit the three victims bodies on fire, wishing them peace and rest, as they made their way down the mountain side. Silence overtook them, nothing but the wind howling and moon singing, before Dean broke it.

"Why did he say he was expecting you, Sammy?"

Sam froze mid-step, actually stumbling and barely catching himself in time, as Dean asked for clarification. At first, Sam had no idea what the djinn meant, until he realized it knew him. It was there that night he was captured and managed to escape from the vengeful and protective Caleb. Dean didn't need to know this.

"What can I say, Dean," he continued along the rocky path. "I'm so bad ass, even cave dwellers know of me."

The tactic was recognized, challenged, then given into as Dean fell into the comfortable silence that brother's could share. They clambered into Baby, the first time they had taken her instead of Lexie, and made their way back to the motel to celebrate their success and to do minor patch up work.

Sam was grateful for 'hunter's helper' as he slammed back another shot of it. Dean was sipping on his beer, watching with a grim fascination. Sam had to have been drunk now, seeing that it was his seventh shot within the two hours of getting back. Yet, he seemed to remain sober, eyes clear and speech impeccable.

"I was 16," Sam began out of nowhere. And that shocked the hell out of the owner of the vocal box. He didn't intend to share the story or dwell in the past, but his tongue felt like it apparently. "John sent me on my own hunts. Small ones, big ones. Any hunt and I was there," Dean leaned forward on his bed, watching as Sam's eyes got lost into his past and was thankful that his lips continued to spill out the hidden memory. "I think it was August. It was hot and awkward, but it was beautiful. The leaves were just turning colors and I got distracted. Djinn got the drop on me. Strung me up and fed on me for days up in that cave of hers," Sam's throat bobbed and so did Dean's. "I managed, somehow, to wake up as Caleb came running in. I got free as soon as Caleb was dropped and…. I killed the djinn. I shouldn't have been able to," Sam looked over at Dean to relay how true his statement was. "I shouldn't have been able to even move. But I killed her. And I left one alive because I was too weak to finish the job and too stupid to know that there was two," tears gathered in Dean's eyes and he cussed under his breath. Tired of tears and weakness and fucking John. "And that's what he meant he was expecting me, Dean. I knew him. And he knew me. Intimately."

And Sam got why he was spilling the truth over willing lips, describing how awful his life was to his elder brother. He got why he still wasn't drunk or that Dean would take in every story he told like a man starving.

"Ignorance is bliss," his eyes sharpened as he looked at Dean. Dean had seen his brother's intense looks before, so it was no shock, but the eldest knew that this was important. To take mental notes on. "Revel in it, brother."

And Dean stopped asking so many questions.

And they hunted some more big bad's and fuglies.

Until they quite literally stumbled over who they were looking for.

* * *

OH MY GOSH GUYS. It's been so long since I have updated. I am so sorry. I have no real excuses to give other than utter laziness and lack of imagination. But here it is! Not my favorite chapter in the world, but I had NO idea how I was gonna speed up to getting to John without it seeming like it was too easy of the boys. I hope you enjoyed though. Also, I totally misspelled **BonanzaRocks** name last post. I KNOW HOW TO READ I SWEAR. Spelling though? Not my forte. Sorry, darling. I love you all and thank you for the wonderful reviews. It warms me up. Alright, enough of me. I've got some serious typing to do for the next chapters. HERE WE COME JOHNNY BOY. xoxo K.


	15. Stone Cold Dead in the Market

The two brothers had been on the in-between time of a hunt when they found John. It was a random town in Georgia, small and homey and haunted by a vicious poltergeist. Both Sam and Dean were trying to research what exactly Mrs. Milly Hannifin was attached to, a laptop and books scattered around the table they sat at in the diner for dinner while Bobby interviewed witnesses. And it was pure luck, or not-so-lucky, timing that Sam glanced up as the bell of the door rang and saw John Winchester staring back into his own hazel eyes. It happened so quickly, so suddenly, Sam thought it was a trick of his mind, but as soon as John turned and ran, he was on his feet.

"What the hell," Dean cursed as papers went scattering onto the floor as Sam pushed away from the table and ran like his life depended on it. His eyes quickly caught glimpse of another, perhaps older, man running and Sam being on his heels, flying to gather the research and laptop before he followed the chase. He laid a twenty and a five on the table, held everything in the small backpack that Sam had carried out to before mentioned diner, and ran after the two.

Sam was practically snarling as his father ran. He knew he would ultimately tire his father out, his legs being longer and younger, and soon enough he would be upon him. Both were fast, but John just wasn't quick enough for his extremely well trained son. It wasn't more than three minutes before Sam saw his opportunity, in the middle of an empty parking lot illuminated by a flickering street lamp. They went down in a heap of limbs.

Dean had tracked his younger brother and watched as Sam leapt, long and powerful arms encasing the older, mysterious man he had taken after. They both went down only to tussle and he heard a voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"God damn it, Sam. Off," it was low and rough, demanding respect and to be followed, but the youngest Winchester did none of the above. He continued to try and pin his father to the cold cement before a wicked punch landed on his jaw, jarring him just enough for the man to stand a few feet away without Sam's grip on him.

"John," he growled, chest heaving in surprise and anger. Dean immediately dropped the back pack, not caring about the material inside, and rushed to stand slightly in front of Sam in a protective manner.

John paid the youngest Winchester no real attention once he realized his older son was here. Dean was here. _Dean._ His son was standing in front of him and he almost couldn't believe how lucky he was. After years and years of searching, Dean was finally _here._ "Dean, is that you, son?"

"You don't get to call me that," Dean gritted through his teeth, eyes narrowing as his father took him in. He hadn't changed too much since the age of 20, only packing on a little more muscle and his blonde hair was slightly longer. He was more relaxed, even while hunting with his brother, and he had lost that weariness that seemed to follow him at his young age. It was clear to John that his son had matured, finally reached manhood, and he couldn't be more proud.

"Dean, I looked for you for ages," John ignored the previous statement Dean gave, joy filling his heart as he took in his son. His _son._ "You just disappeared… Where did you go, kiddo?"

Dean could hear the angry breathing his younger brother was emitting and hoped that his brother would stay out of this. John had already hurt Sam and Dean wouldn't allow more to happen, not on his watch. He drew on his inner strength, hoping that he could at least keep in control of himself to make sure that that didn't happen. "Doesn't matter anymore, John."

He watched as John raised an eyebrow at him calling him his given name instead of Dad or sir. Yet, no anger flitted over his features and Dean realized that John was happy, hell _joyful_ , that Dean was standing in front of him. Nothing he did was going to change that. "Why are you with Sam?"

"He found me," he simply stated, taking another step to his left to block John's penetrating gaze from Sam. Dean could read the disgust his father was flinging at his brother and he wanted to shield him from the unfairness of it all.

"Oh, did he," John seethed, glaring at the tall man behind his son. "And why didn't he contact me?" It wasn't a question. It was a direct command to tell him why he didn't know about Sam finding his now twenty seven year old son.

"I tried," Sam immediately slipped, too used to orders and giving into demands. "You didn't pick up."

"You should've tried harder," John scoffed, his hand twitching by his side. "But at least you found him. You brought him back to me. Guess you're not completely useless."

Sam flinched, anger still burning in him, but shame and hurt washed through his veins with the boiling emotion. It had been awhile since he heard such hateful words spoken to him and he had let down his walls while with Dean. Yet, he found he still had his foundations. He could still build a wall in under a minute and he tried to do so as Dean took over.

"You shut your mouth," he spat, hands fisting and shaking in rage. No one had the right to say that about _his_ Sammy. His younger brother was brilliant, beautiful and built in muscles and knowledge and curiosity and strength. He was far from useless. "You don't speak to him that way."

"I can speak to the boy however I wish, son," John sighed and took a step forward, energy focusing in on Dean. He could read his son's anger and bitterness at him and he knew that Dean knew what he did to Sam. Yet, he could not find it in him to ever regret what he did. Not even with Dean seething at him. After all, it all lead them here, this bittersweet moment for John. "Come here, Dean. Let me look at you. It's been a long time since I've seen you."

Dean laughed dark and quick at the suggestion. "What? Get near you, you bastard? Only in your dreams, John," the words were spelled with disgust and disbelief. "I can hardly stand to look at you, forget about getting any closer to you."

"Son-."

"You DON'T get to call me that."

"Fine," John huffed, irritated, but not letting it get to him. He could explain himself and his eldest would understand. "Dean, I did what had to be done. Sam understands, don't you?" He quickly slid a glance at man he had once called son, but could barely stand to look at the reason his family was torn apart. All because of him, because he was living and breathing. "Sam and I came to a mutual understanding, didn't we?"

Dean felt his brother stiffen at the words and he wanted to desperately understand what exactly that understanding meant or what exactly his father was really talking about. He knew that John knew that Dean had come to the knowledge that his younger brother was abused, but to argue that Sam understood the reasons why? Hell, Dean couldn't even pin why his father would turn to such sinful actions and to learn that there was more behind it hurt him. He thought Sam had trusted him now.

"What do you mean," he asked, voice still strong, but not quite as strong as it had been before. "What do you mean you came to an understanding?"

"Why don't you tell him, Sam," his father raised an eyebrow, a dark satisfaction taking over his features. "After all, you are the reason and all."

Sam took in a shaky breath, his mind racing for the words. He had told Dean most everything that his father had done to him, but never the reasons why John did. At first, he didn't even know. He took the raining of fists and boots and blood without understanding and he continued to do so for a year before John finally told him. He couldn't place the date or the time or even where John had drunkly swore at him, uttering the deep and black truths to his youngest son. And the next morning, when fists did come upon him, he hardly fought him. And that was the closest John had gotten to being proud of him.

The youngest Winchester shielded his eyes with his long hair, feeling the two gazes on him. After the months of being with Dean again, he didn't want Dean to leave him. He wouldn't survive it a second time. "I…I…," the words were struggling to make it out of his throat and into his mouth to move forward with the shaping of his tongue.

"Ah, come on, Sam," John felt the smirk tug the corners of his lips as Dean gazed heavily upon the tallest Winchester. "Dean deserves the truth, doesn't he?"

Sam felt himself nodding to John's words, disgust rolling through him. How did he think he could hide this from his older brother? The world would be far too kind if he could and he knew that that wasn't how life went. He straightened slightly, eyes only connecting with Dean's bright green ones and he saw the faith he held. He saw how he trusted him and how much his brother loved him, but he knew it would shatter within the minutes it would take to explain why this family was so broken.

"It's ok, Sam," Dean gently coaxed, curiosity almost choking him, but he held steady. If John thought whatever was going to come out of Sam's mouth was going to be the killing blow, he definitely thought wrong. Yet, Dean had no idea what Sam was going to confess to. He had no idea of the darkness that the words contained.

"De-Dean," Sam took the stutter, cursing himself for sounding so weak, but he was. He was weak. He was the murderer of one who loved him, who cared for him, who gave him nothing but herself and her family to him. He was a killer. A killer. "I'm…I'm the one who killed Mom. I killed our Mom, Dean."

And if Sam was the sword, the fire, then Dean was the brother who carried him out of it. And if John was really the solider of fate, dealing out what was due to those who earned it, the world was just unfair and dark. And the ever bright love that Dean held for his younger brother, the same love that speckled his eyes full of color and emotion and the same love that Sam could read by staring into the windows of Dean's soul, began to dull and was replaced with something unreadable as the youngest Winchester admitted his first and greatest sin-murder.

* * *

I decided to post this chapter super early! What did you all think? Bobby will once again appear before the entire scene is over, so we'll get some angry!Bobby in there and quite a lot of anger from every side. Let me know what you all thought of this chapter! THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS. I will continue to thank you for them because they simply mean a lot to me. Let me know if you are a new reader and I would love to extend the proper thanks. To all my readers who have been with me since the beginning, you are all so amazing and I love you. Watch out for a new story coming up of mine. I might post it this week or update this story again with an intro to the other as an a/n. Let me know which you would prefer! ALSO I AM LOOKING FOR SOME INSPIRATION AND PROMPTS. Submit a prompt and I will write a story based off of it within a week. PM me if you are wanting to submit one. Thank you everyone. I love you! xoxo K.


	16. Do You Feel Like We Do

"Did John tell you that," Dean whispered, low and out of his father's hearing range. The pain that gripped his stomach was rebelling and he couldn't believe that his brother would believe such a blatant lie. His Sammy didn't kill his mom. Hell, he was only 6 months old when it happened. Disbelief was flooding his system, a buzzing entering his ears and it made him fuzzy. He barely saw Sam nod, but he gritted his teeth. "You know he's a liar, Sam."

"Not about this, Dean," Sam concurred, head dropped and eyes shielded. His hands were in fists and he could barely breathe out of his constricted throat. His mouth was dry, but it didn't stop him from continuing. "That-that demon came for me. He came for me and Mom died because of me. I killed her, Dean. I killed mom."

"That THING killed Mom," Dean had exploded. "So what if he came for you, Sammy? Hell, evil shit comes for you ninety percent of the time and I'm not surprised some yellow eyed bastard would try to… to do whatever to you, but he was the one to kill Mom. He was the one who put her over your crib. Not _you._ "

"If I hadn't been born, Dean," Sam was nothing but persistent and stubborn, and while it usually made Dean proud and annoyed, it only made him angry. "You could have a family. You could have… have a different brother and not a freak like me. You could have the apple pie life, Dean. You could be happy. _Happy._ "

John couldn't tell if this argument was going his way or not. He could feel the blistering flames of Dean's anger as it licked the atmosphere and taste the guilt and sadness of Sam as it rolled off in waves. Even with those acknowledgements, he spoke up and watched as the abomination that was once his son flinch with a morbid fascination. "He got to Sam, Dean," his voice was low, powerful and rumbled like thunder. "This thing standing in front of you? He's not human. He's not your brother, son. That demon changed Sam that night and we all know it. He's been a freak all of his life, haven't you, Sam?"

"Shut the _fuck_ up," Dean spat, spinning back to face the man he once called his hero. "You… you-," he ran a shaking hand through his hair and tugged on his locks, trying to keep himself from falling too far into his anger. "Sam is not a freak and he is most definitely human, John. You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you."

"Dean," Sam stepped forward, almost shakily and it was almost comical the way Dean's head flipped to him so quickly. "He…he's telling the truth, Dean."

The big brother let out a giant puff of air, not aware that he even had that much air in his lungs, as Sam spoke evenly and with conviction. It left no space for argument, no place for lies, but just the truth. "What do you mean?"

With a quick flick of eyes to John, Sam gulped down the words, his adams apple bobbing with the effort to hold back his sobs. His eyebrows pinched together, eyes just watering enough to prove to Dean that his little brother truly believed whatever was going to come out of his own mouth. "When the demon came, he-he bled into my mouth. And… and I drank it. I have demon blood in me, Dean. I'm a freak. I'm a _monster._ "

The minutes that suddenly became silent were inhuman, Dead decided, as the war of silence raged around him. It was deafening and shrill in his ears as he gazed upon his not so little brother, anger as hot as brimstone flooding his system and soothing the disbelief into it's flames. So what if his sibling had a little extra… something to him. That demon had _raped_ his brother of his humanity and even after that, Sam was always Sammy to him. And no one, not even Sam, could call himself a monster, because his brother was the most human person Dean had possibly ever met. And it wasn't a cliche nor was it a dripping sappiness, it was the truth.

The eldest brother had run from a family born of revenge and flames and jumped into the pool that most considered the cool normal people aimed for. Yet, even all those years swimming with hundreds and billions of humanity's most normal, he had never quite been able to see humanity in it's true essence than what he saw in Sam. Wonder, admiration, boldness and shyness burrito-ed into one capable and intelligent brain and body and soul. His younger brother had no bounds or boundaries and he dared to testify against the senior Winchester and more. Bravery and rashness knew each other vicariously, his little brother quick to save and quick to protect, but quick to forget that saving and protecting might mean his own death, his own pain. And no one, not one single human had Dean met, could really encompass humanity like not so little Sammy Winchester.

So hearing his brother, his _Sammy_ , try to convince Dean he was a monster, a freak, an abomination, was almost laughable. Because Dean knew the truth and knew it was absolute.

"You can't believe that," he began, slowly walking towards his brother. "Y-you, you're not any of that, Sam." Sam only nodded, taking steps back as his brother gained on him. "No," the word was loud, hard, absolute in its way. It echoed across the empty lot, echoed in his soul. "You are not a monster. You are not a freak, not anymore than being my little brother entails, Sammy. You are Sam Winchester and nothing is going to change that, not even some demon blood."

"I killed Mom," the youngest gasped, eyes just a little too wide and mouth just a little too dry. Was he hearing his brother correctly?

"The demon did, Sammy," Dean exasperated, like it was known like it should be in his sibling's head. Like a math equation, or a useless Egyptian fact, or the lengthy exorcisms that he had readily prepared. "Seriously, kiddo, it wasn't you, no matter what that bastard told you. It. Wasn't. You." Dean had finally been able to lay his hand on his kids shoulder, slowly traveling up to grab his neck and look into Sam's hazel eyes. "It wasn't you," he whispered softly, a quick nod of his head absolving Sam of his sin's. The youngest Winchester exhaled quickly, almost choking on the speed or release, and nodded down at Dean. _Ok, ok, ok,_ a mantra in not so many words that believed in Dean, in his big brother. "Good… good, kiddo," a tight smile wound its way onto his lips and Sam struggled to send one back as Dean squeezed his neck once more. He could see the outline of Bobby's truck coming and sighed, relieved. He need backup, whether it came to a fight or not, he needed Bobby. "Now let's go deal with that asshat we called a father, huh?"

And it wasn't supposed to be dramatic, at least in neither of the Winchester brothers eyes, but John couldn't help but feel the intense and epic point of the night coming to as his son's turned towards him, the lights of Bobby Singer's car encompassing the men and bathing them in dull yellow, intense in black and light. He had never been afraid or apprehensive of either of his kids, yet again he had never witnessed the two in perfect harmony, spirit, and love. They were not boys as they stood against him, chests powered with emotions. They were warriors; they were powerful and anointed and full grown men; they were brothers through and through, and nothing had frightened John Winchester as much as they did underneath the stars of that May night.

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Holy poop, has a month really gone by? AND I DIDN'T UPDATE THIS STORY? I'm so sorry about that guys. I have hit a bit of a rut in writing, but I'm hoping that this can tide you all over for just a few more days. I know its short, but the next one won't be! I love you all. Thank you for the reviews and the kind words. You guys are the best. Love you all. xoxo K.


	17. It's Really Not

Bobby Singer sighed as he rounded the corner. Those idgits of his were getting harder and harder to track and he was in the same freaking town as them. When their figures appeared, he huffed and cursed low, then realized a third had joined them, a third he knew all too approach then became slow, calculated, and defined in hunter terms. No sloppiness was allowed as he slowly exited his parked vehicle, feeling the heavy night's aura deepen as the engine cooled beneath the slightly chilly evening. His first steps to his boys were hastened, tightened and prepared to protect the kids he considered sons, but slowed as he caught sight of the bastard that he used to call a confidant, even more so, a friend. He kept his mouth shut, his eyes directly latched onto the brothers, and finally came to a stop.

"Boys," he nodded at each, "Mind telling me next time where you two go, so I don't have to hunt you idgit's down?"

Dean smirked at the familiar nickname, nodding once, maybe twice, before falling back into his 'this bastard is going down' mask. "Sure thing, Bobby."

Bobby grunted, ran his eyes over Sam who, all in all, looked like hell wrung upon him, but he was still standing firm. With a quick jerk of his head, he acknowledged his adopted youngest and turned towards the man who many had worshipped and only one had truly known. "John," he met the brown eyes dead straight on. His hand twitched for his .45 tucked safely in his jeans.

"Bobby Singer, as I live and breathe," John greeted, hard and cold, but calm. He wasn't surprised Robert had been with his kids, but he was surprised to see the cool hatred in the eyes of his old accomplice. "What brings you here? You working with my boys or something?"

"Or something," a quick upwards tuck of his lips in a conniving smirk before settling down was John's only tell. "You should be ashamed of yourself, John."

"Whys that, Bobby," the eldest Winchester rolled his shoulders back. He knew what a storm smelt like before it rolled in and he was outnumbered. John may have been one of the worlds best hunters, but who was he to deny the levity of his situation. John was great, his sons and Bobby were probably the only other three hunters he couldn't take.

"I think you know."

Dean tried to lock down on his emotions as the scene played out. His father was treating this like a joke, like nothing within the past hour had happened and it angered him. Fueled him forwards in his hatred towards the man he had adored. Sam had already locked down on their emotions, Bobby doing the same. It wasn't without a surprise that Bobby had already cocked his gun at John's head at the same time as John aimed at Sam. Dean and Sam were also locked on, but Dean's hand shook under the pure weight of guns and bullets and blood and family being in this specific one chapter of his life. This was his father. His dad.

"We all know who has the quicker shot off here," John called, eyes hardened as fingers twitched.

No one moved. The night was eerily quiet without chirping or buzzing and Dean swallowed loudly. The gun was trained on Sam, who hadn't even blinked and if something like that wasn't fucked up a few hundred ways west of a Tuesday, then nothing was. His baby bother must've been used to John's harsh and unforgiving ways and Dean cursed himself for letting it happen. "Put the gun down, John," he pleaded.

"I should've put down this monster ages ago," John wearily replied to his son. "Dean, he killed Mary. He killed MOM. Doesn't that warrant for his death? Does his death not atone for everything that has happened?"

"No," the answer was resolute. Dean held no further ground than that. Sam was a lot, but he was not a monster nor a murderer nor anything his father had echoed to him. "NO."

It became silent again. No taunts, no pleading, just the truth resting in a battle ground, a war. John shifted his feet, obviously and largely so that the other hunters could read his movements with clear intentions. The gun that had previously signed his brother's pain started to lower towards the black cement and John held his other hand up as if in peace. Dean felt the heavy relief stinging in his chest as his father backed down. It was over. John was outnumbered.

The saying goes like this, though. The worst happens when you least expect it. The shot was fast, like science and technology designed it to be, and traveled perfectly only after years of experience had taught a steady hand. The bullet itself shattered upon impact, red blood escaping it's bodily confines like all prisoners could go free but only through one door. It was quick, it was loud, and it was deadly.

Another echoed but Dean paid no attention as he swiveled his head towards the brother he had called little for his entire life. The world had slowed and he only heard his heart beating, or not beating, he wasn't too sure, as his eyes connected with Sam's own. Red bloomed quickly over the grey shirt and it looked animated, the quickness of it all. It pooled and gathered, like the tears and words in one's mouth as it hung loosely open. No words could escape. No words could describe.

"Sammy?"

Reality set in. Sam stumbled forward, eyes desperately searching his body and he felt detached as Dean caught him in his readied arms. Why was there no pain? _WHY_ was there no pain?

"Sammy, come on, look at me, look at me, little brother," the command was there, but Sam found it hard to follow. His head rolled against Dean's body as he was shifted and brought towards the ground, patiently and loving and tender and fucked up. There was no pain. "Sammy, _look at me."_ He got to it eventually, his hazel eyes attaching onto the green of his big brothers. Tears were gathered there and he didn't know why. Why was Dean crying? Big brother's don't cry. At least, thats what Dean told him once. It was years ago, but he still remembered.

"D…d't cry," he chocked, his throat constricting as he pushed the words out through blood and saliva and.… Sam was confused and messed up and oh god, he was bleeding and Dean tried to put pressure on the wound as Sam looking up at him. Bobby had already dialed 911, but they weren't coming fast enough for the now oldest Winchester. "W'y y… cry?"

"Hush, Sam," Dean chocked back, unable to listen to his little brother's words. He was going to cry if he damn well wanted to, even if he was trying to keep his sibling alive. "Save your energy. Keep looking at me, though. You got it, big guy? Huh, Sam? You keep your eyes on me."

Sam tried to nod his head, but it was useless. He laid like jelly against his brother and kept his eyes on him. He could barely feel his fingers and toes, but he couldn't really feel the rest of his body either, so Sam didn't panic. "O-ok, D'n."

"That's good, that's good, Sammy," Dean breathed as Bobby came round with an extra shirt to hold against the gaping bullet wound in his brother's chest. Blood dribbled out of it, before another trail of the marooned liquid suddenly leaked out of Sam's barely open mouth.

"Shit," Bobby swore and he could still hear the operator trying to get information over the phone. The ambulance was only minutes away and he needed to know what was happening. The paramedics needed to be ready for their patient. They needed to be able to save his life. "Internal bleeding, blood is making it's way out of his mouth."

"They're almost there," the man replied in earnest and Bobby snorted as tears clocked him suddenly. Didn't matter. Didn't make this situation any better. Sam was dying right now, in his brother's arms, and nothing could make this bearable. Nothing couldn't unmake this Hell.

"Sam, come on, kiddo," Dean shook his brother slightly, the eyelids of the hazel eyes hiding Sam from the world for a few moments longer than he liked. Panic seized his bones and lungs as the young boy, _his_ boy, barely flinched. "Stay awake. Come on, stay awake, Sammy."

Sam could feel the pain now. Could feel his entire body vibrating with the need to breathe and could taste the metallic rust that ran up his throat. His mind was still fuzzy and daft, but he knew he was dying, but the _pain_ that coursed through him was just too much. Too much. "S'ry, D'n," he whispered, eyes still shut and felt himself drift into a place where dark didn't mean bad and him and demons and evil, but introduced a new world.

Dean was hyperventilating as his brother shut his eyes and drifted and it felt like an ocean of tears swept through him. His face was dumped in salt and water and rivered their way off of his skin and saturated into Sam's grey tinted body. He was a mess of too much pain and too much close to death and Sammy leaving him and his body just took over, hands rubbing through Sam's hair as he burrowed his head into his little brothers forehead. "It's ok," he whimpered. "It's ok, I've got you. It's ok. It's ok, Sammy. You rest. I've got you. I've got you, little brother. It's ok."

It's ok.

A promise. A beginning. An ending.

It really, really wasn't ok, no matter how many times Dean said it.

* * *

 _Finally._ This story has taken me longer than I have liked to write, but we are _finally_ here at this moment. I love me some hurt and confused Sammy. I hope you all enjoyed! Keep reviewing, _please_. It is  stupid how much each review inspires me to write better and faster. After all, this story isn't for me, but for my reader's too! Love y'all. xoxo K.


	18. The Beginning

The sky was blue. A hint of clouds and a misting of dew that only a new day could bring, but the sky was blue and that was what mattered.

And that wasn't how Dean had started measuring his days and until that one, it didn't really matter if sky was blue or grey or black. It was only when he fell asleep and when he awoke that truly mattered. His escape and his reawakening only solidifying reality.

Bobby had been his rock; feeding him, convincing him to sleep, guiding him through the angry days. And Dean was damn grateful for Bobby, or else he'd be… well, he'd just be. It was only a few weeks ago that his world came to a stop, causing everything in his life to be discombobulated and messy, a little too messy, but eventually and gradually, it started moving forward again.

The sky was also blue the day that Dean attended the funeral.

After hours of trying to revive a bullet stricken patient, the doctors had given up. Too many calls had been made and it was the final one, the time of death 12:01 am, barely into a new day, that they released the body to the family.

There was only Bobby and him there, but, to Dean, it didn't matter. Another body was burning and Dean could taste the ashes in his throat, clogging his words and burrowing deep into his heart. He sank deep into the bottle that night, when the sky finally offered cloudy shadows, and he didn't resurface for days until Bobby made him see straight.

The sky was blue that day, too.

"Dean, you listen hear boy," Bobby began in his gruff and tired voice. The days had not been kind to him either, but he had a job to do. Dean was his boy, was always, and he was concerned. "It's rough, I know, but just… just think of what's ahead, alright, ya idgit? We gotta keep moving forward. Dwelling just aint right for the soul."

And Dean understood every word that Bobby wasn't saying. What is done is done. Time to focus on what was ahead of them. And he did. Everything became slightly easier from there on. Breathing was easier, getting up was, too. And seeing Sam became his joy

Seeing Sam resting. That was what Dean enjoyed most.

So, every day, every single damn day, Dean drove back and forth just to see his brother finally resting. It was bittersweet, but it was enough that Dean felt peace over it. The wires and tubes misconstrued the image of relaxation, but he could tell from the even breaths and timid smiles that Sam was finally ok. Everything, every little thing that John had blamed him for, every secret, was out and Dean didn't care. His little brother, as big and giant as he was, was still his little brother. Dean felt pride in the way that Sam would ask for help maneuvering around the hospital room, felt joy when Sam sent his dimples his way, felt peace when Sam slept soundly.

His family was finally completely and wonderfully whole, and that was more than enough for Dean. It may have been the messiest, angriest family the world had ever seen, but the world knew that this family was bonded far beyond what she was made of. Whatever people wanted to call it, it wasn't blood which tied them together, but that of a supernatural and extraordinary bond that called these people together. Nothing could separate them, not even Death, Mother Earth reckoned, as she settled down to watch the dawning of a new era.

Dean's hand met Sam's, supporting and soothing, and she continued her circuit, finally at peace that the Winchesters found each other and would never let go.

* * *

Alright y'all. I had officially given up on this story, because I lost sight of where it was going and while I thought I had it laid out, it definitely wasn't getting anywhere. So, as an apology, I gave it, hopefully, a deserving ending. I never dreamed that this story would have so much response to it, so I must admit that I am shamefully sorry for abandoning this. I am hoping that this last chapter will help those that have been looking for it. I've enjoyed writing this, and who knows, I might start a sequel but only after I have truly taken the time to write several chapters ahead sp that my head is good and clear. Thank you to everyone who has supported this story. I love you all. xoxo K.


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